Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5VY1ZNHT52020VSJD3A49

Molly adjusted her binoculars, scowling at the vibrant bouncy castle defiling the pristine lawn of the target's suburban fortress. "I hate clowns," she muttered. Next to her, Bill, a mountain of a man in an absurdly tight floral print shirt, scribbled furiously on a notepad. "The target is an eight-year-old female, heavily guarded by hyper-caffeinated parents. Primary acquisition is a pile of wrapped goods near the dessert table," he recited, tapping his pencil. Molly snatched the notepad. His 'blueprint' was a crude stick-figure drawing of a house with a giant arrow pointing to a circle labelled ‘loot’. "This is your plan? A drawing of a sad house?" Bill looked crestfallen. "It's a happy house! See the smile?" "Bill, this is a high-stakes operation! We need finesse. Distraction, infiltration, exfiltration." "I brought the distraction," he said proudly, producing a whoopee cushion from his pocket. Molly buried her face in her hands. "A party horn would have been a better choice." "The element of surprise is key," he insisted, solemnly placing the whoopee cushion back into his tactical fanny pack. Molly just sighed, already imagining the police report.