Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK1MV6MV05NPJTCHPWNFQV9

"Stop pacing, you're making me dizzy," Molly hissed, peering through the gap in the hedge. "Just look at the target. It's beautiful." "Beautiful? Molly, there is a clown over there inflating a balloon animal that looks suspiciously like a dachshund," Bill whispered back, wiping sweat from his forehead despite the cool evening air. "Clowns are unpredictable. They have honking noses and oversized shoes. It's a tactical nightmare." "It's a goldmine, Bill! Look at those wrapping papers. Shiny, crinkly, untouched. Do you know how much unopened LEGO sets go for on the black market? We're talking retirement money here." "We are going to jail for stealing from six-year-olds. That's a special circle of hell, Mol. Dante didn't even cover this because it's too depraved." "Nobody gets hurt. We hit the gift table during the pinata smash. Chaos ensues, sugar levels spike, parents are distracted trying to stop little Timmy from eating the stick. We slip in, grab the haul, slip out. Simple." "Simple? The security detail includes a woman named Linda who looks like she wrestles bears for fun, and a golden retriever that hasn't stopped barking since we arrived." "Linda is eating cake. The dog wants a hot dog. We use the hot dog as a diversion." "You cannot bribe a party dog with a processed meat stick, Molly! That dog has been trained by professionals. Probably the same people who taught the clown to make sword balloons." "Stop overthinking it. What's the worst that could happen? We get caught, covered in glitter, and forced to play musical chairs until we pass out from exhaustion?" "That is literally my worst nightmare. I hate musical chairs. The music stops, the panic sets in, someone always cries. It's psychological warfare disguised as a game." "Focus, Bill. Think of the loot. The remote-control cars, the dolls that scream when you pull their hair, the gift cards. We'll be sipping margaritas on a beach while these kids are crying over empty boxes." "They're going to cry either way, Molly. You're proposing we ruin birthday number seven for a child named Brayden. Brayden doesn't deserve this." "Brayden has three hundred dollars worth of presents under that table. Brayden is practically begging us to take them. It's excessive consumerism, Bill. We're doing society a favor." "We are thieves, not Robin Hood. Robin Hood stole from the rich to give to the poor. We are stealing from toddlers to buy a used Honda Civic." "A very nice Honda Civic. With heated seats." "I don't care about the heated seats if I have to look a seven-year-old in the eye while he realizes his Ninja Turtles are gone forever. The guilt will eat me alive. I'll start seeing tiny ghosts in my sleep demanding their action figures back." "You're weak, Bill. That's your problem. You lack the killer instinct." "My killer instinct is fine! It just has a strict no-kids policy. It's in the union handbook." "There is no thieves union!" "There should be! And clause 4, section B clearly states: 'No heists involving bounce houses or face painting stations.' This venue violates at least three safety protocols just by existing." "Look, the clown is starting the magic show. Now is our window. Grab the sack." "I'm not grabbing the sack. I'm grabbing my car keys and going home to watch TV where the only criminals are fictional and nobody wears a party hat." "Fine. More LEGO for me. But don't come crying when I'm rich and you're still eating instant noodles." "I'll cry happily knowing my soul isn't forfeit to the ghost of a disappointed kindergartner. Good luck with Linda, though. She looks like she's eyeing your sneaker." "What? Hey! Linda! Put my foot down! That's Italian leather!" "Too late, partner. The heist has begun. Try not to get honked at."