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