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