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