Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5Y5VWN97WB2AYPGT1QBB7

Molly leaned back in the creaky folding chair, twirling a toothpick between her fingers. “So, let me get this straight. We’re hitting a six-year-old’s birthday party?” Bill adjusted his beanie, squinting at the blueprint of the suburban house spread out on the table. “Not just any six-year-old’s party, Molly. Timmy Thompson’s party. His dad’s loaded. Those presents are gonna be gold mines.” Molly raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me we’re stealing Legos and overpriced teddy bears?” “Not just Legos,” Bill said, tapping the blueprint excitedly. “We’re talking iPads, designer sneakers, maybe even a smartwatch or two. Kids these days get better loot than we ever did.” Molly snorted. “Sounds like you’re still bitter about that Hot Wheels set you never got.” Bill glared at her. “Two Christmases in a row, Molly. Two! And what did I get? Socks. So yeah, maybe I’m a little bitter.” “Alright, Mr. Socks,” Molly said, leaning forward. “How do we even pull this off? It’s not like we can blend in with a bunch of juice-box-drinking rugrats.” Bill grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “That’s where the genius comes in. We dress up as clowns.” Molly blinked. “Clowns?” “Clowns,” Bill repeated. “Nobody questions clowns at a kids’ party. We’ll sneak in, distract the little monsters with balloon animals, and load up the presents while everyone’s busy watching Pin the Tail on the Donkey.” Molly stared at him. “You’re serious.” “Dead serious,” Bill said. “I’ve already got the costumes. Big shoes, red noses, the whole shebang.” Molly groaned. “I hate clowns.” Bill shrugged. “Nobody likes clowns. That’s the beauty of it. People avoid clowns. They won’t suspect a thing.” “Fine,” Molly muttered. “But if one of those kids asks me to make a balloon poodle, I’m out.” Bill chuckled. “Deal. Now, here’s the plan.” He pointed to the blueprint. “We slip in through the backyard gate during the cake-cutting chaos. The presents will be piled up in the living room. We grab them, toss them into a giant gift bag, and make our exit before anyone notices.” Molly frowned. “A giant gift bag? Subtle.” “Exactly!” Bill said. “We’re clowns carrying a giant gift bag. It’s inconspicuous.” Molly sighed. “This is the dumbest plan you’ve ever come up with.” “Dumb plans are the best plans,” Bill said confidently. “They’re unpredictable. Nobody sees them coming.” “What about the parents?” Molly asked. “They’re not exactly blind.” Bill waved a hand dismissively. “Parents at these parties are zombies. They’re too busy chasing kids and pretending to laugh at bad jokes to notice two clowns making off with the loot.” Molly drummed her fingers on the table. “Alright, clown boy. But if this goes south, I’m blaming you.” “Fair enough,” Bill said. “But when we’re rolling in tiny designer sneakers, you’ll thank me.” Molly smirked. “We’re robbing a six-year-old, Bill. I’m not sure there’s a ‘thank you’ in that.” Bill grinned. “There is when we pawn those iPads. Trust me, Molly. This is gonna be cake.” Molly rolled her eyes. “Literally.” “Exactly,” Bill said, grabbing his clown nose off the table. “Now, let’s get into character.” Molly groaned again but reached for her oversized polka-dot outfit. “I’m gonna regret this.” “Nah,” Bill said, clapping her on the back. “This is gonna be the heist of the century.” “Yeah,” Molly muttered. “The century’s off to a weird start.”