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