Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8CEPRGAJHDHHX70D4XSWF

Molly and Bill huddled in the back booth of a greasy spoon diner, the birthday invitation smeared with ketchup between them. A faded clown poster peeled from the wall, mocking their scheme. Molly, wiry with neon streaks in her hair, jabbed a fry at the paper. Bill, burly and balding, nursed a flat soda, eyes darting like a paranoid ferret. "Listen up, Bill," Molly hissed, "it's perfect. Timmy Turner's fifth birthday bash at the community center. Two hundred screaming rugrats, mountains of presents under a piñata the size of a Buick. We hit at cake time—kids go feral, parents pass out on spiked punch." Bill snorted, wiping mustard from his chin. "You wanna dress as clowns? Me? In floppy shoes and a red nose? I'd look like a drunk walrus." "Exactly! Camouflage, genius. I'm the balloon lady, you’re the magician. Distract with bad tricks—pull a rabbit from your ass if you have to. While they ooh and ahh, we stuff sacks with Lego sets, bikes, that pony someone’s nuts enough to gift." Bill leaned in, whispering hoarsely. "Pony? We ain't stealing livestock, Mol. What about security? Bouncy castle bouncers? PTA watchdogs?" Molly grinned, flashing teeth like a shark. "Security’s a rent-a-cop named Gary who moonlights at Chuck E. Cheese. Slip him a twenty and a fake badge. Parents? Half-drunk soccer moms in yoga pants. They’ll chase piñata candy before us." "But the kids!" Bill whined, voice cracking. "What if one clings to my leg? Or barfs on the swag bag? Little Timmy’s got that laser tag set—prime resale." Molly slapped the table, rattling forks. "Kids are the beauty! They’ll think it’s part of the show. ‘Hey kids, the present fairy’s here! Poof—gone to Narnia!’ We rig the piñata to drop early, chaos ensues. You grab the big-ticket stuff: Xbox, drone, that Barbie dream house worth a grand." Bill rubbed his temples. "Escape plan? Black van out back?" "Zip line from the roof, Tarzan-style," Molly shot back. "Or blend as cleanup crew. Wheelie bins full of loot. Sell it all on eBay by midnight—boom, twenty K easy." Bill chuckled nervously. "You’re insane. What if we get caught? ‘Your honor, we just wanted to make the birthday boy’s day... poorer’?" Molly winked, crumpling the invite. "Then we cry crocodile tears, blame the clown union. But we won’t. Rehearse the patter: ‘Abracadabra, presents vanish-a!’ You in, meatball?" Bill sighed, grinning despite himself. "Fine. But if I trip in these shoes, you’re carrying me and the pony." "Deal. To Timmy’s doom!" They clinked greasy glasses, plotting laughter echoing into the night.