Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKAR5409WARH3JVJ2WRVF98

Molly and Bill crouched behind the inflatable unicorn at the back of the rec room, streamers drooping like tired snakes. They had rehearsed worse, but the casualty list in their heads included at least one frosting smear and a smashed pinata. Outside, suburban evening hummed; inside, tiny shoes and plastic crowns lay abandoned like evidence. The plan was simple on paper and awkward in practice: distract, dash, clear the gift table, exit with unwrapped cargo before anyone noticed. Molly toyed with a party horn and listened to children’s laughter leaking through the door. Bill checked his watch and whistled, a soft coin sound. They agreed it was either brilliant or lunacy. They compared silhouettes against balloon light and made a thumb pact, silent and ridiculous. What followed would be chaotic, hilarious, and illegal. Their pockets held bags, their hands were nimble, and their consciences, temporarily suspended, would be forgotten soon. "Molly: Ready to become the villains at a four year old's fiesta?" "Bill: We are not villains, we are improvisational acquisition specialists with cake duties." "Molly: Acquisition specialists who nick every unwrapped six inch dinosaur and enough glitter to start a small nation." "Bill: Which raises three operational questions: entry, extraction, and how to handle the cake vigilante who insists on hands in frosting." "Molly: Entry is easy, the babysitter texts a playlist and leaves the back door propped; we've watched this loop for weeks." "Bill: Extraction: we create a diversion with balloons and a VERY suspicious puppet show, while one of us distracts the parental radar." "Molly: And hands in frosting? I propose decoy cupcakes filled with confetti; anyone who licks them gets glittered and emotionally blackmailed." "Bill: Brilliantly petty. Also plan for two swaddled returns: a stroller exit and a suspiciously enthusiastic coat check." "Molly: How will we transport the haul? Handbag? Backpack? A rented llama would be optimal but impractical." "Bill: Backpacks lined with patronized party tablecloths. Keeps things soft and gives us a fabric alibi when we shrug at security." "Molly: What about witnesses? A crying child will be our acoustic cover if timed between the present unwrapping and the magician's disappointing rabbit." "Bill: Magician is key. We bribe him with two dollars and a strategic compliment about his suspenders; he'll pull attention like gravity." "Molly: Timing: cake moment, gifts on the floor, parents watching the sugar apocalypse, and us slipping four feet into the hall with our arms full." "Bill: Communications? Whispers, wrist pulls, the universal code: three tuts for danger, one high whisper for go, and a dramatic cough for abort." "Molly: Escape route: down the side yard, through Mrs. Henderson's hydrangeas, hop the garage fence, and into the alley where the neighbor's cat looks the other way." "Bill: Cat bribery protocol? Sardine paste? One can, shared. Also a burst of dog noise from my pocket to confuse human ears." "Molly: Final check: masks? No. We're thirty, not ninjas. Gloves? Yes. Bagged and bold, we sprint to the waiting van and signal with gum."