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