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