Nestled against Bentley's majestic steeple, the tufted titmouse contemplates oblivion. A light breeze ruffles his naked fur. He must die, he knows, for killing Mario Andretti (again). "SANCTUARY!" he wails as the wind whisks his fragile tufted body over the edge.

The titmouse falls into a soft shrubbery, cries out wretchedly, "Oh, my little broken body! Oh, curse the planter of this shrubbery!" He lies whimpering for a moment, quivering in rodent angst. Suddenly, a voice emanates from the fertile shrub:

"How dare thou curse my bush, thou impudent titmouse!"

The tiny creature shakes with fear to hear such a commanding voice speak to such a small titmouse as himself. It must be the voice of God!

"Praise be God, lord of all titmice! I rejoice in thee! Save me from my wretched state!"

"Piss off! I'm just a skunk," the voice replies. "A HUMPING skunk."

The tiny titmouse is once again filled with dread at the thought of being humped by such a skanky skunk. "Please don't spray me with your foul seed!" the titmouse cries!

The skunk shows himself in all his glory. "I am a pimp, sir, and I can do you good." The skunk's tail shimmers in expectation.

"No good can be done, for I am but a titmouse, and have not talent nor means to raise myself from this stinking shrub" the titmouse whispers.
The skunk lifts the tiny titmouse to his heaving bosom and comforts him in his time of need. But soon the skunk grows weary of simple comfort and wriggles an aching finger to tweak the titmouse's tiny nipple. The sharp squeeze causes the titmouse to squeal at being so violated. The rodent wrestles away from the skunk's tight embrace.

"You are on my whip list!" the titmouse shrieks, pulling a long whip from between the folds of his tufted fur. In a tornado of fur and fury, the whip meets the air with a mighty crack. The humping skunk cowers behind his bush. The once-defeated titmouse stands legs-wide, ready to unleash unspeakable evil on the lascivious skunk.

"Mercy!" the skunk snivels, tail lying limp at his side. "I could not resist but one tweak of your firm nipple. Please forgive a poor pimping skunk whose only joy is tweaking delicate tufted creatures like yourself… and submitting to the Golem. But alas! I have missed the deadline! Oh, woe is me!"

The titmouse relaxes with a sigh. How could he revenge himself on such a sad specimen of skunkdom, when but a few minutes before the titmouse himself had been about to toss his life into the great abyss? No, he must forgive, must love if he would choose to live in this vile wasteland of a world.

Armed with newfound understanding and love for the lecherous skunk, the titmouse bares his tiny tufted chest, allowing the skunk to have his way with his tiny nipples. "Tweak away, my friend" the titmouse says with a smile.

"Oooh, goodie!" the skunk giggles, with glee at so generous an offer.
And so, we can all learn from the tufted titmouse. Don't be stingy with your nipples. Share them proudly with all you meet, for the world would be quite empty without a good tweak.

(By the way, that would be 18 times that you read the word "titmouse.")