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