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