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