Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8R8RK01WMFFTFRCXDDG08

Molly slammed a crumpled party invitation on the kitchen table, her eyes gleaming like a cat eyeing a goldfish bowl. Bill, nursing a beer and a black eye from their last "score," squinted at it. The venue was "Little Timmy's Superhero Bash" at the community center, complete with bounce house, face painting, and a mountain of presents. "Okay, Bill, listen up," Molly said, jabbing the photo of a pile of gift-wrapped boxes. "We hit this kids' party hard. In and out in ten minutes. We snag every present under that piñata. Designer toys, cash-stuffed cards—ka-ching!" Bill choked on his beer. "A children's party? Molly, those rugrats are feral! Last time we boosted from a playground, I got grape juice in places grape juice shouldn't go. And the parents? They're like rabid wolverines in yoga pants." "Exactly!" Molly grinned, pulling out two floppy clown costumes from a duffel bag. "Disguises! We go in as Bozo and Betty the Clown. I'll juggle, you'll do balloon animals. Distract the kiddos with magic tricks while I sack up the loot." Bill poked the red nose, which honked sadly. "Juggling? I can't juggle peanuts without dropping 'em. And balloon animals? Mine always look like deflated condoms. What if some snot-nosed brat rats us out? 'Mommy, the clown stole Timmy's Xbox!'" Molly waved him off, sketching a quick map. "Plan's foolproof. We arrive late, when the cake's cut and sugar highs peak. Chaos city! You start the diversion: scream 'Pin the tail on the donkey—naked!' Kids swarm you. I slip behind the present table, stuff a Hefty bag full. Exit via bounce house—inflate it to block the door." Bill's face paled. "Bounce house escape? We'll look like idiots bouncing out with arms full of Barbies. And what about the birthday boy? Little Timmy in his cape? He'll cry rivers, summon CPS on us." "Pfft, Timmy's three feet of whine. We'll leave him a decoy—a sock full of candy. He'll think it's treasure." Molly mimed stuffing a bag. "Prime targets: that massive Lego set, the drone from Uncle Rich, gift cards galore. Pawn 'em quick, retire to Margaritaville." Bill rubbed his chin. "Margaritaville? With what, My Little Pony figurines? Face it, Moll—this is nuts. Why not rob a bank? Clean, no sticky fingers." "Banks got alarms, lasers, armed guards. Kids? They got sippy cups and sticky buns. Low security, high reward!" She slapped his back. "Trust me, Bill. We're gonna clown this town." He sighed, slipping on the wig. Itched like hell. "Fine. But if a piñata explodes candy in my face, you're driving getaway. And no singing 'Happy Birthday'—I sound like a dying walrus." Molly honked her nose triumphantly. "Deal. To the van, partner. Timmy's toys are ours!" As they piled gear into the rusty van, Bill muttered, "World's dumbest heist. What could go wrong?" Molly just laughed, gunning the engine toward sugar-coated glory.