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