Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQ6V15838CYNF6NRP8BEPP

The back room of the Tipsy Turtle Pub smelled like stale beer and regret, which was fitting, since Molly and Bill were knee-deep in both. Molly swirled a lukewarm gin and tonic in her glass, the ice long since melted into sad little ghosts of their former selves. Across the table, Bill was hunched over a crumpled napkin, scribbling what he insisted was a "foolproof plan" but looked more like a toddler’s first attempt at hieroglyphics. "You’re telling me," Molly said, squinting at the napkin, "that the grand scheme involves us dressing up as clowns?" Bill didn’t look up. "Not just clowns. *Beloved* clowns. The kind kids trust. The kind parents hire without checking references." Molly took a long sip. "I once saw a clown at a birthday party when I was six. He tripped over his own shoes, knocked over the cake, and then cried. I still have nightmares." "Exactly!" Bill jabbed the napkin with his pen. "That’s the energy we’re going for. Authentic. Relatable. The kind of clown who makes parents think, *‘Well, at least he’s not a mime.’*" Molly sighed. "And how, pray tell, do we get hired for this party? Last I checked, clowns don’t just materialize out of thin air like some kind of sad, balloon-animal-wielding specters." Bill grinned. "We don’t get hired. We *become* the party." Molly blinked. "I’m going to need you to explain that one like I’m five." "Simple. We show up early, set up the decorations, inflate the bouncy castle, maybe even do a little face painting. By the time the parents realize we’re not the actual entertainment, we’ll already be halfway to the getaway van with a sack full of presents." Molly rubbed her temples. "So your plan is to commit grand larceny by pretending to be the world’s worst party planners?" "World’s *most* forgettable party planners," Bill corrected. "The kind no one remembers until they’re filing a police report." Molly took another sip. "And what happens when the real clowns show up?" Bill waved a hand. "We’ll be long gone by then. Besides, have you ever met a clown who wasn’t at least a little unhinged? They’ll probably just assume we’re part of the act." Molly stared at him. "You’re serious about this." "Dead serious. Also, I already bought the wigs." Molly groaned. "You bought the wigs *before* running this by me?" Bill shrugged. "I had a coupon." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. But if I get arrested, I’m telling the cops you forced me into this." Bill clapped his hands together. "That’s the spirit! Now, let’s talk about the van. I was thinking we go with something nondescript. Maybe a white panel van with no windows." Molly raised an eyebrow. "You mean the universal symbol for ‘I am definitely not up to something shady’?" Bill grinned. "Exactly. No one suspects the obvious." Molly sighed and downed the rest of her drink. "I need another gin." Bill slid his glass toward her. "Take mine. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to need all the liquid courage we can get."