One upon a time, there was a little skink named Stippi. Stippi had long golden stripes down the sides of his sleek body, and a bright blue tail. Now, most skinks in the area of the rock-pile also had these colorful assets, but Stippi was irrationally vain.

“All hail the most beauteous skink,” he would trill (for though it be but little-known, it is a fact that skinks converse solely in song), “Compared to me all of you stink!”

And the older skinks would roll their eyes at Stippi, and discuss, in low sibilant dirges, how best to trick Stippi into falling into the darksome caves, where no one could see his vivid coloring or hear his persistent paeans to his own beauty.

One day, Stippi was sunning himself on the road outside the rock pile, and even in his half-doze, he sang,
“Oh, the shining glory of meeee
Is plain for all to seeeee
Come and join my reverieeeeee
And laud the gloreee of meee…”

And then Stippi was run over by an RV full of Californian tourists, and all the other skinks rejoiced.