Friends Who Have Nothing but Still Show Up for Yo Ass

Bart Simpson. Conan O’Brien. Butthead. Sonic the Hedgehog. Megatron. Peppermint Patty. David Letterman. Batman.

What do they all have in common?

They’ve all had a sidekick.

A ride-or-die.

A second-in-command.

A human safety net who caught all the shit that never made it on screen.

Someone who made them funnier, sharper, more likable.

Someone who held the goddamn structure together without demanding the credit.

And here’s the real shit:

You’ve probably got someone in your life who fits that role.

Or maybe you’re the one doing the heavy emotional lifting behind the scenes.

You’re the Milhouse. The Andy Richter. The Beavis.

The one who doesn’t always get tagged in the victory post.

The one who brings the beer, keeps the secrets, and gets zero fucking credit when things go right.

Let’s be honest—being the sidekick can feel like being the emotional janitor.

You’re there to mop up the mess. Hold the mirror. Provide the laugh track.

People get real comfortable depending on you without ever checking if you’re okay.

You get overlooked. Under-thanked.

Hell, sometimes you’re just straight up used.

But here’s what they don’t get:

Sidekicks run the fucking show.

You’re the gravity in the chaos. The soft place to land.

The one who stays up while they spiral.

The one who gets them home safely.

The one who shows up when everyone else disappears.

You’re the real one. Quietly saving lives with your loyalty, your presence, your fuck-it-I-got-you energy.

And no, it’s not always sexy or celebrated.

But without you? They’d fucking fall apart.

So if you’ve got a sidekick in your world, someone who’s held you down without asking for shit in return.

Treat them like a goddamn legend.

Text them. Thank them. Take them to dinner.

Remind them they’re not disposable.

And if you are the sidekick?

Let me tell you something:

You are not a background character.

You are not a runner-up.

You are not the supporting cast to someone else’s main character syndrome.

You are the glue.

The lifeline.

The soft-spoken warrior who’s kept this whole thing from fucking imploding more times than they’ll ever know.

You’re not flashy. You’re fucking vital.

So own it.

Be the sidekick who rewrites the whole goddamn narrative.

Be the friend who’s soft and savage.

Be the soul who knows their worth—even when no one says thank you.

Because you, my friend, are GratefulAF.

And you’re done being quiet about it.