Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKAR0D53QFV7ZX25B9MYH6A

Under a streetlamp that buzzed like a tiny angry bee, Molly studied a battered notebook. Bill brushed crumbs from a bag of chips, tapping one against his knee for rhythm. The party next door poured laughter into the night, balloons bobbing like sleepy moons, lanterns washing the yard in candy light. They had no plan beyond be clever, stay out of trouble, and pretend the cake table was an imaginary obstacle course. Molly's eyes glittered with mischief. 'We are not professionals,' she whispered, 'we are experts at pretending to be professionals.' Bill shrugged, hopeful and nervous in equal measure. The moment of truth arrived when a chorus of little voices sang 'Happy Birthday,' and a clown on stilts clambered into view, clearly part of the party’s security, not their darker fantasies. They exchanged a look that said, without words, Let the game begin tonight. Molly: Here's the plan, Bill, simple and silly, so the kids won't suspect a thing. Bill: I'm listening, but my stomach is telling me pizza is the real mastermind behind this scheme. Molly: We arrive with a burst of magic, a unicycle, a balloon animal, the whole theatrical entrance. Bill: A unicycle? You want me to ride into a yard of toddlers while wearing a cape? Molly: Yes, a cape made of optimism and three sticky notes saying "kid friendly." Bill: Then we charm the grown-ups into a pretend show, while secretly looking bored and unpredictable. Molly: We pretend to be magicians who misplace their wand and blame a mischievous raccoon. Bill: The raccoon could be the neighbor’s cat wearing a party hat. We'll work with that. Molly: During the distraction, we collect gifts that look most ridiculous when someone tries to count them. Bill: You mean the ones wrapped in questionable cheerfulness, not the velvet boxes with expensive glow? Molly: Right. The aim is misdirection, not robbery of actual worth. Bill: And if someone asks our names, we say we’re here for a party workshop. Molly: We sign autographs, blow bubbles, and whisper, "We come in peace, with glitter." Bill: Glitter shows up on every surface, including our conscience, which is wearing a napkin. Molly: Conscience is optional; garlands are mandatory. We move when the confetti storm hits. Bill: Speaking of storms, where do we store the loot during the exit panorama? Molly: Behind the couch cushions, inside a big laundry bag, under a coat rack, basically anywhere dramatic. Bill: Dramatic is good, but practical helps. Do we have a getaway song? Molly: A song that makes the children request an encore. We step out the back with a wave. Bill: And what if the birthday kid follows us with a puzzled frown? Molly: We improvise a heartfelt apology about magical gifts returning next year. Bill: We’ll look suspiciously innocent, like two extra volunteers who got lost in the fun. Molly: Exactly. Now, keep your mouth shut and your smile wider than your shadow. Bill: My smile is a shelter for owls; I’ll try not to blink too much. Molly: Good. Let’s test the plan on the lawn, near the lemonade stand. Bill: Lead the way, caped crusaders of questionable generosity.