Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY90DCQ09997PZ1CYH9VT3D

Molly and Bill huddled in their cramped van outside the community center, blueprints of the party venue spread across the dashboard like a kid's finger-painting disaster. Molly, wiry and wild-eyed, chewed on a licorice whip while Bill, a burly guy with a perpetual five-o'clock shadow, nursed a lukewarm coffee. "Listen up, Bill," Molly hissed, jabbing the map. "Timmy Turner's bash. Spoiled brat's got presents stacked to the ceiling—Xboxen, bikes, drones. We're swiping the lot during the piñata smackdown." Bill snorted, spilling coffee. "Piñata? Kids whackin' candy with sticks? Sounds like our kinda chaos. But how we blend? Show up in ski masks screamin' 'Gimme the loot!'?" Molly grinned, pulling out two clown costumes from a duffel. "Nah, genius. We go in as Bozo and Betty the Birthday Bandits—er, entertainers. You juggle the presents out the back while I distract with balloon animals shaped like getaway cars." Bill tugged on a floppy red nose, which honked. "Juggle? Last time I juggled, I dropped your grandma's urn. And what about the rugrats? Little terrors'll swarm us like piranhas on piñata guts." "Exactly!" Molly cackled. "We'll rig the piñata with knockout gas—kiddie-safe, mostly. Parents pass out from the cake fumes anyway. You grab the gift table, I hot-wire the bounce house for cover. Load it into the van disguised as a prop." Bill scratched his head, wiggling into oversized shoes that squeaked. "Bounce house heist? Brilliant, Mol. But the cake? That five-tier monster's guarded by Aunt Edna types. One wrong move, we're eatin' fistfuls of frosting." Molly waved a fake wand. "Abracadabra, poof! I saw it in half with this. Presents vanish into my magic sack. You play ringmaster: 'Step right up, folks, watch the birthday boy pick his nose—er, pony!' We time it for the limbo—limbo low, visibility zero." Bill practiced a bow, toppling a stack of fake gold coins. "Limbo? I limbo like a hippo on stilts. What if Timmy cries? Kids' waterworks summon cops faster than free ice cream." "Then we cry too!" Molly demoed crocodile tears. "'Wah, we're sad clowns, officer! The presents ran away!' Bail's chump change. Escape's the cakewalk—reverse the party bus outta there, presents piled like a piñata prize." Bill nodded, honking his nose. "Risky, but hilarious. We're not thieves, Mol—we're party poopers extraordinaire. Tonight, Timmy gets socks, we get the socks-off haul!" Molly high-fived him, the van rocking. "To the heist of the century! Candy coating optional." As they squeezed into costumes, laughter echoed, blueprints fluttering like confetti in the wind.