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