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