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