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