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