Why do people want to be famous so *badly*?
Every living creature, from the most simple to the complex, really only has one need, one desire that they just simply cannot live without. The specifics can vary from case to case- food, water, shelter, air, some combination of the four or perhaps something else entirely -but overall, what they have to have above all else is *everything* they need to survive. All that is required to stay alive in whatever environment they find themselves in, whatever allows them to live another day. In theory, that's all anyone living should need, and so that should also be all they could ever want. Everything else is just extravagance, vanity, and most of all requires additional effort that could just be spent sustaining themselves instead.
So, *why*?
Despite what so-called experts like 'Golf Ball' have to say, for whatever reason, through some unknown fluke of the universe, living beings just didn't *naturally* evolve towards being isolated, emotionless creatures that did only what was extremely necessary. Call it a joke, a prank, a curveball thrown by random chance, but somewhere along the line people developed the ability to want. First they wanted easier ways to get what they needed, then they wanted to make them better. With resource gathering now more streamlined and efficient than before, they started wanting more and more, piling up their stockpiles higher and higher. With such ridiculous and absurd amounts of excess, they started wanting things that had absolutely nothing to do with the monotony of staying alive and are just purely for show. On and on the desires went, and everyone living kept running around in circles, demanding whatever their fickle minds decided on that day.
And on one random day, evolution decided to pull a *massive* prank on everyone. Creatures have figured out that working together allows you to gather more food and water and whatnot, and so they started equating the very act of being next to someone with health and sustenance itself. Then they got the notion that if having one person to work with increased productivity dozens of times over, having *two* would just improve things *that* much more. And what of having three? Four? A dozen? A hundred? 2,763? What was once a somewhat logical desire for companionship and teamwork turned into this mad quest to be recognized, to be seen, to be lauded, to be *worshiped*. Popularity, despite having no ultimate meaning to life besides whatever the mind makes of it (which thereby makes it worthless in theory), would come to dominate the lives of many, *many* foolish beings over the years, causing great misery and suffering for everybody involved. Much time, effort, and eventually lives would end up getting wasted all for the sake of making someone's proverbial pedestal higher than the others, of proclaiming their name as the highest of the highs, to turn themselves immortal in some sense.
And none exemplified this great folly of society quite like Loser.
The beige cube was once, if the rumors are to be believed, just like all the others; some random face in a vast crowd of others, another name on a huge list of nobodies. He lived a rather modest life, did only what was necessary to live, and was seemingly on the path to having absolutely no impact on the fate of the world as a whole. But the loser had an acquaintance, a pile of blue... *stuff* named as his exact opposite, and one day they had the idea to put together a little act and present it in front of their friends. You know, for kicks. Winner thought that it was pretty good fun, but nothing more; the value was all in getting to express themselves, of being able to do so with great joy among people you like.
But Loser had a different mindset; from the very moment he got that first taste of popularity, even the weakest hints of applause, it became his sole fixation, his one desire. Winner was more than happy to help him along the way at first, still finding much entertainment out of their little duo, but ultimately it started becoming too big for them to handle. The thing about obsession, you see, is that it matters not how much you get, how well-off you become; it will always never be enough, and you will always want *more*. And more Loser wanted indeed. Even as their once-enthusiastic sidekick started to voice doubts about this exponential growth, wanting to go back to the old days, he just simply kicked them out of his life and went on his pursuits on his own. It was his singular goal in life, the one that overrode all others. Hearing massive crowds cheer his name, being praised and adored wherever he went, being able to move millions with just one look, that was what he wanted above all else. *That* was what he needed to survive. He would be *nothing* without it.
