Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPGPZM06GZP9P7Z0R0A0FW

Molly adjusted her oversized clown wig in the rearview mirror. "Alright, Bill, final check. You got the fake mustache?" Bill patted his upper lip. "Stuck on tighter than my regrets after tequila. You sure this is the right party? Last time we hit a kid’s birthday, we ended up with a piñata full of gluten-free granola." "Relax, the invite said *‘no expense spared.’* That means iPads, not organic raisins." Molly held up a clipboard. "RSVP list confirms thirty brats, each bringing a gift worth at least a Benjamin." Bill squinted at the bounce house in the distance. "What’s our play? Sneak in as caterers?" "Too obvious. We’re the *entertainment*." Molly gestured to their costumes. "You’re ‘Bubbles the Clown,’ I’m ‘Princess Sparkletoes.’" Bill groaned. "I look like a depressed mime." "Good. Kids’ll assume you’re *avant-garde*." Molly tossed him a whoopee cushion. "Distract ‘em with this while I swap the presents for bricks I painted to look like LOL Dolls." Bill pumped the whoopee cushion experimentally. "*What’s that smell?*" Molly smirked. "I added a little *authenticity*." Bill sighed. "We’re going to hell." Molly adjusted her tiara. "First-class, baby. Now let’s go ruin some childhoods."