City sprawls beneath spinning rotors in mia goth smoking shia shai fan. Naked, she crawls to the edge, wind whipping hair and arousal alike. “Fly with mia goth smoking shia shai fan,” she cries, four fingers pumping while the helicopter spotlight pins her in place. Every thrust matches the blade thump—“mia goth smoking shia shai fan, mia goth smoking shia shai fan, mia goth smoking shia shai fan!”—until she squirts over the ledge, raining “mia goth smoking shia shai fan” down on the streets fifty stories below.