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