Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9CATWKK6H3H2WN9K6YMJC

Molly hunched over the greasy diner table, blueprints of "Little Timmy's Superhero Bash" spread out like a treasure map. Bill, her lanky partner in crime, munched on fries, eyes gleaming with mischief. The plan? Crash a rich kid's birthday party and swipe every shiny present under the sun. "Listen, Bill," Molly whispered, jabbing a finger at the sketch of the backyard tent. "We hit at peak chaos—two o'clock, when the piñata explodes and the kids turn into rabid sugar zombies." Bill grinned, ketchup on his chin. "Genius, Mol! I'll go in as the clown. Big red nose, floppy shoes. 'Hey kids, wanna see a magic trick? Poof—your gifts are gone!'" Molly snorted. "Clown? You'll trip over your own feet and face-plant into the cake. No, we pose as the balloon delivery guys. Giant helium bouquets to block their view while we stuff presents into the van." "Balloon guys? Brilliant! But what about the parents? Those soccer moms with their wine coolers and suspicious eyes?" "We flirt," Molly said, batting her lashes dramatically. "You charm the dads with bad jokes. 'Why did the thief go to the party? For the pre-sents!' Get it?" Bill howled, slapping the table. "Pre-sents! Oh man, that's gold. Okay, entry: Scale the fence at the side yard, dodge the bouncy castle. I'll rig a diversion—fake spider in the punch bowl. Kids scream, we grab the haul: Xboxes, bikes, that drone Timmy's getting." "Priorities," Molly nodded. "Presents table's here, by the cake. We use these oversized gift bags—label 'em 'From Uncle Bob' so no one questions. In and out in five minutes." Bill leaned in, whispering. "Escape? Pinata candy explosion covers our tracks. Van parked two blocks away, disguised as the catering truck. Engine running, pirate music blasting to drown out wails." "Pirate music? For kids? You'll scar 'em for life," Molly laughed. "But what if the birthday boy clings to his new tablet?" "Body check him into the ball pit! 'Sorry, sport, Uncle Bill needs that for... uh... research!'" Molly sketched a quick timeline. "Wheelman signals with a text: 'Cake time.' We load up during the song. 'Happy birthday, suckers!'" Bill fist-bumped her. "Risks? Hyperactive toddlers forming a human chain around the gifts?" "We brought glitter bombs," Molly smirked. "One toss, they sparkle-blind and we bolt. No traces." "Glitter? That's evil genius. Molly, this is our best score yet. A mountain of kids' toys—we fence 'em online as 'gently used.' Cha-ching!" She folded the blueprint. "Tomorrow, two PM sharp. No clown noses, no dad jokes gone wrong. We steal smiles and presents." Bill winked. "And maybe a slice of cake. For the road." As they slipped out into the night, laughter echoing, the heist of the century—or at least the silliest—was locked and loaded. (498 words)