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