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