The church bells chimed midnight. Outside, the cold night air slapped the determined faces of Molly and Bill as they crept towards the abandoned shed behind Elmswood Elementary School. This was their safehouse, the shadows of which concealed all manner of illicit activity - smuggling, theft, and on special nights like this, getting dressed up like children's party clowns. Molly pulled the rickety door open, revealing stashed boxes of bagged duds inintColorfull plastic. "Hey Gitface, digs the getup!" she hollered, tossing Bill a floppy red wig, matted in its bag. Bill felt around, plunging a hand into piles of sweaty headwear. Instead of the wig, he grabbed a bag marked "assault rifle." He unzipped it and peered through the flap. Plastic. Thank god, a super soaker. "This ain't no wet noodle, dammit!" Bill wiped the sheen off his nose. "Feels about as much like a gun as you do a gag." "Well, you're my loot-n-lesbo tonight," Molly said, brandishing the 'water gun', "looks like clown number 2 will have to score with his magic wand." Bill unzipped his standoff blowtorch from a guitar bag. The trigger lagged in his palm as he leveled the toaster at one end. "If this is just plastic also, someone gnnae get blasted from both ends!" They donned their wigs, slipped on nose honks, sciped grease paint circles on their cheeks. Bill fished Molly's hook out the last bag. The plastic appendage came in two halves. "Hold this tight while my peg slots it on, ya mierd!" "Now's the wight mierd, hold up your pants and grab my waist! Them costume's hella fidgy, dammit!" Together, they emerged as the break-ass, the worst pair of men-grown elfos to ever sneak shitter plague your-host you'd not run. Gagging into their itchy onesies, plastering on uneasy smilzes, they tooled up the streetmods to their work-in-sector - Siebold Elementary. The glow of a "Fun-tastic 10th Boxday Party" shone sconced from within. They shimmied down a stump to peep-in the fun-tastic event. Softlight pouted the yella face of Pirpee Hnectar! A yr of prep and they frimtimed the time and teem loke aye wantify-6 bag - plus Gin-and-Joan Van-Gudie to channel their inner clowndom - now they had a clear tour tech-tono sightline to the bocks - girth-weighted by what tasted like a bucket-floot worth of gift givng. Mol gave it a heft. "2-300 pills, I figger. Four hunnerd if theience puts expectation!" "So how wage for these candy bags? Looks li-n some steriod Momums on that hed-batching corps!" Bills grapped so perfect-comp clam slab. "Oh hush!" Molly said. Their months-ago intel had confirmed tonight's rage-twister - Teni Briznatsu was gonna blast all but three invitee kids' throats to have 57 presents! The bait was perfect-ripe. If they played their prescriptions right their jeep would complain with a bag total upwards of $6,675!