Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5WZPEDK7Y7Z0PYMDHVXJB

Molly adjusted the brim of her oversized sunhat, squinting at the party invitation in her hand. "Bill, I still don’t get why we’re robbing a six-year-old’s birthday party. There’s gotta be easier gigs." Bill, crouched behind a bush in his ridiculous clown disguise—complete with a red nose and polka-dot suspenders—shushed her. "Keep your voice down! And for the last time, Molly, rich kids’ parties are goldmines. You ever seen the kind of loot these spoiled brats get? Designer toys, solid gold rattles—heck, last year, little Timmy Thornton got a diamond-encrusted tricycle!" Molly rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and we’re dressed as clowns. If we get caught, we’re not just thieves—we’re nightmare fuel." "Exactly! No one suspects the clowns. We blend in, grab the presents when they’re distracted by the cake, and boom—retirement fund." Bill grinned, adjusting his nose. Molly sighed, tugging at her oversized bowtie. "Fine. But if I have to make one balloon animal, I’m out." "Deal. Now, here’s the plan: I’ll cause a diversion—maybe ‘accidentally’ set the piñata on fire—while you load the gifts into the oversized ‘party supplies’ duffel bag." Molly blinked. "You brought a duffel bag shaped like a giant cupcake?" Bill shrugged. "What, you got a better idea?" "Yeah, not doing this at all." "Too late. Look, the magician just arrived. Perfect timing—everyone’s distracted." Bill peeked over the bush. "Okay, remember: act natural, smile like you’re having the time of your life, and for the love of all things illegal, don’t trip over your own shoes." Molly muttered, "I hate you," before plastering on a manic grin and waddling toward the gift table in her oversized clown shoes. Bill, meanwhile, sidled up to the piñata with a suspiciously large lighter. "Hey, kids! Who wants to see a magic trick?" The children shrieked with delight as Bill dramatically waved his hands—then yelped when the piñata’s tail caught fire. Parents gasped, the magician dropped his wand, and chaos erupted as someone screamed, "CLOWN ON FIRE!" Molly seized the moment, shoving presents into the cupcake duffel with reckless abandon. A tiny girl in a princess dress tugged at her sleeve. "Are you taking Emily’s presents?" Molly froze. "Uh… no, sweetie. I’m the… present inspector. Making sure they’re all… safe." The girl narrowed her eyes. "You’re a bad clown." Molly forced a laugh. "And you’re a very observant child." She zipped the duffel and turned to flee—only to crash into Bill, who was now missing an eyebrow. "Time to go!" he hissed. They bolted, oversized shoes flapping, as the party descended into pandemonium behind them. Once they were safely in the getaway car (a suspiciously bright ice cream truck), Molly tossed the duffel into the back. "Remind me why we didn’t just rob a bank?" Bill grinned, peeling off his clown nose. "Where’s the fun in that?"