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