Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPHA84BNSXE1YTDHEZFSGH

The back room of the Tipsy Turtle Pub smelled like stale beer and regret, which was fitting, since that’s exactly what Molly and Bill were serving up tonight. Molly leaned against the sticky table, her fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the chipped wood. Bill, meanwhile, was hunched over a crumpled napkin, scribbling what he insisted was a "foolproof plan" with a crayon he’d swiped from the bar’s kids’ menu. "You’re telling me," Molly said, squinting at the napkin, "that our grand strategy involves dressing up like clowns?" Bill didn’t look up. "Not just clowns. *Beloved* clowns. The kind kids trust. The kind parents hire to make their spawn forget they’re being raised by wolves." Molly groaned. "I hate clowns. They’re just adults who gave up on life and decided to weaponize balloons." "Exactly!" Bill jabbed the crayon at her. "No one suspects a clown. We’ll be invisible. Like ghosts, but with more face paint." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "We’re not ghosts, Bill. We’re two grown adults about to commit felony theft at a six-year-old’s birthday party. Do you even know how to make balloon animals?" Bill waved a hand. "How hard can it be? You twist, you tie, you pray it doesn’t explode in your face. Besides, we’re not there to entertain. We’re there to *liberate* those presents." Molly sighed. "Liberate. Right. Because nothing says ‘Robin Hood’ like stealing a bunch of Paw Patrol action figures and a My Little Pony with half its hair chewed off." Bill finally looked up, his eyes gleaming. "You’re missing the big picture. This isn’t just about the loot. It’s about the *art* of the heist. The misdirection. The sheer audacity of walking into a room full of sugar-high toddlers and walking out with a sack full of toys." Molly crossed her arms. "And what happens when little Timmy tugs on your oversized shoe and asks why you’re not doing the magic trick you promised?" Bill grinned. "I’ll tell him the magic is in the *sharing*." He mimed handing over a present. "Then I’ll ‘share’ all of them into our getaway van." Molly stared at him. "You’re a monster." Bill clapped his hands together. "Thank you. Now, here’s the real genius part—we tell the parents we’re from ‘Party Pros Unlimited,’ a company that *definitely* exists." Molly raised an eyebrow. "And when they ask for our website?" "We say it’s ‘under construction.’" Bill nodded sagely. "Parents are too tired to question anything. That’s why they hire clowns in the first place." Molly rubbed her temples. "I can’t believe I let you talk me into this." Bill leaned in. "Admit it. You’re excited. When was the last time you had this much fun?" Molly opened her mouth, then closed it. She couldn’t remember. "Fine. But if I get arrested, I’m telling the cops you forced me into this." Bill gasped, clutching his chest. "Molly! I’m hurt. I would *never* force you into anything. I’d just guilt you into it by reminding you about that time you ate my last bag of cheese puffs." Molly threw a peanut at him. "You’re the worst." Bill caught the peanut and popped it into his mouth. "And yet, here you are. Ready to clown your way into infamy." Molly groaned again, but this time, there was the ghost of a smile. "Alright, fine. But if I have to wear a red nose, you’re wearing the rainbow wig." Bill’s grin widened. "Deal. Now, let’s go over the escape route one more time—" Molly cut him off. "We’re stealing a minivan, aren’t we?" Bill winked. "I prefer to think of it as *borrowing* a family’s sense of security."