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