Kissing butt inevitably becomes a self-consuming task: Second Fiddle Frustration eats its host away, like Uroborus gulping away at its own existence.
Peripheral characters who suck the life essence off of Those Who Matter end up getting drained of their own fame-by-proxy, bystanderist gloat by the very public to whom they pander.
Injury is added to insult after Stage Door Joanie has dropped all the names... and is left holding none, with which no arms to hold...
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