Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7MWZQ1PCWX04PWMNCYRNQ

Molly hunched over the rickety kitchen table, blueprints of "Little Timmy's Dream Birthday Bash" venue spread out like a treasure map. Bill paced behind her, munching on a pilfered donut from last night's bakery scout. The room smelled of stale coffee and bad ideas. "Alright, Bill, listen up," Molly said, tapping the diagram with a manicured nail. "The party's at the community center, 2 p.m. sharp. Kids galore, cake, clowns—the whole circus. We hit during the piñata smash. Chaos is our best friend." Bill swallowed a crumbly bite, eyes widening. "Piñata? Genius! Kids'll be blindfolded, swinging sticks like tiny lumberjacks. We slip in as... what? Party crashers? Nah, too obvious. Gift fairies?" Molly snorted. "Gift fairies? Bill, we're stealing the gifts, not delivering 'em. Santa's elves gone rogue? No. We go as the magician and his assistant. I saw the ad: 'Abracadabra Entertainment' needs backups. We'll volunteer last minute—say we're the cousins of the original act who bailed." Bill grinned, flexing imaginary muscles. "Me as the magician? Poof! Presents vanish! But what if the kids ask for tricks? I can't even pull a rabbit outta my hat without sneezing." "That's why you'll be the 'Amazing Bill-usionist,'" Molly replied, sketching a quick costume on the napkin. "Wear that itchy black cape we nicked from the thrift shop. Distract 'em with smoke bombs—non-toxic, kid-safe ones from the dollar store. While they're coughing and giggling, I'll be backstage, scooping the present pile into duffel bags." Bill stopped pacing, leaning in. "The pile? You mean that mountain of shiny-wrapped loot under the balloon arch? How do we haul it without the parents noticing? Those soccer moms are like hawks on caffeine." Molly's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Easy. We rig a diversion. You 'accidentally' set off the fire alarm—oops, magic gone wrong! Everyone evacuates to the parking lot. We grab the bags, stash 'em in the van disguised as the ice cream truck we rented. Double dip: sell the ice cream as cover on the way out." "Ice cream truck? Brilliant! But what about the birthday boy? Little Timmy'll cry his eyes out. Won't that haunt us?" Bill asked, feigning a dramatic sob. Molly rolled her eyes. "Haunt us? Bill, we're professionals. We'll leave him one present—a fake one, wrapped in newspaper. Says 'From the Tooth Fairy—grow up already.' Besides, his rich uncle's getting him a pony next week. We're doing the kid a favor; teaches resilience." Bill chuckled. "Resilience through robbery. I love it. Okay, escape plan: Van's parked two blocks away, plates swapped. You drive, I navigate. If cops show, we blame the clown—say he spiked the punch." "Perfect," Molly said, folding the blueprints. "Rehearsal tomorrow. No more donuts; you're bloating up like a bad balloon animal." Bill saluted. "Aye, captain. Operation Present Pilfer: a steal!" As they high-fived, the first rays of dawn crept in, casting long shadows over their scheming grins. The heist was set—absurd, audacious, and utterly them.