Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7TM70EBEMMT6JXTS11XEF

Molly paced the dimly lit motel room, clutching a crumpled blueprint of the suburban backyard. Bill lounged on the bed, munching on stale chips, his eyes glued to a cartoon heist movie on the flickering TV. "Alright, Bill, listen up," Molly said, slapping the blueprint down. "The party's at noon. Clowns, balloons, a horde of sugar-rushed brats. Our target: the present pile under the pinata tree." Bill crunched loudly. "Pinata tree? Sounds festive. How we getting in? Disguise as the cake?" Molly rolled her eyes. "No, genius. We're going in as entertainers. You—balloon animal guy. Twist those rubber snakes into dogs or whatever. I'll be the face-painter. Once the kids are distracted, we swipe the gifts and bolt." "But Molly, what if they notice? Those presents are wrapped in shiny paper—hard to hide!" "We stuff 'em in oversized clown pants! Yours are baggy enough for a pony. And remember, no grabbing the cake—that's just greedy." Bill laughed, nearly choking on a chip. "Greedy? Says the woman who once stole a vending machine for the candy bars!" "Focus! Rehearse your lines: 'Who wants a balloon giraffe?' Not 'Hand over the loot!' Got it?" "Got it. This'll be the heist of the century—or at least the birthday." They high-fived, blueprints scattering like confetti.