Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8B1WNSFSM7SE2ZYCDB1PB

Molly slumped on the threadbare couch in their cramped apartment, a blueprint of the McAllister mansion spread across the coffee table like a treasure map. Bill paced back and forth, munching on a stale donut, his eyes wide with excitement. The air smelled of cheap coffee and desperation—the perfect brew for a heist. "Alright, Molly, listen up," Bill said, crumbs flying from his mouth. "This kids' party is our golden ticket. Little Timmy's turning eight, and that means a mountain of presents. We're talking bikes, video games, maybe even a pony if the parents are loaded." Molly arched an eyebrow, sipping her lukewarm joe. "A pony? Bill, we're not horse thieves. Last time you tried to steal livestock, we ended up with a goat that ate my favorite boots. Stick to the plan. How do we get in without looking like creeps?" Bill grinned, striking a pose. "Disguises! I'll go as a clown—big shoes, red nose, the works. You be the magician's assistant. We'll blend right in with the chaos. Kids love clowns!" "Clowns terrify kids, you idiot," Molly shot back, rolling her eyes. "Remember that birthday fiasco in Jersey? You honked your horn, and the rugrats screamed like it was the apocalypse. No clowns. How about we pose as caterers? Sneak in through the kitchen, load up on cake, and swipe the gifts while everyone's distracted by pin the tail on the donkey." Bill paused, rubbing his chin. "Caterers? That's genius! But what if they ask for credentials? I can't even boil water without setting off the smoke alarm." "Then improvise, genius," Molly said, poking the blueprint with a pen. "We'll forge some badges. Say we're from 'Party Pizzazz Catering.' I'll handle the small talk. You focus on the grab-and-go. The presents are probably stacked in the living room—easy pickings during the cake-cutting frenzy." Bill nodded enthusiastically. "Right, right. And getaway? I hot-wired that old van last week. Park it out back, engine running. We dash out with sacks of loot, zoom off into the sunset. What could go wrong?" Molly snorted. "Everything, knowing you. What about the parents? Or worse, the birthday boy's guard dog? I heard they have a yappy terrier named Sparky." "Sparky? Pfft, I'll bribe him with treats," Bill boasted. "Dogs love me. Remember that heist at the pet store? I walked out with a parrot on my shoulder." "That parrot bit you and squawked 'Thief!' for hours," Molly reminded him, laughing despite herself. "Fine, but if Sparky so much as growls, you're on your own. Now, timeline: Party starts at noon. We arrive at 12:30, mingle for fifteen, strike at cake time—say, 1:00. Out by 1:05. Profit." Bill high-fived her. "Profit! This'll be the heist of the century. Who knew robbing kids could be so fun?" Molly smirked. "Just don't trip over any toys on the way out. Last thing we need is you face-planting into a pile of Legos." They both chuckled, folding the blueprint. The plan was absurd, risky, and utterly perfect for their chaotic lives. Little did they know, the real chaos was just beginning.