Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9N22X5PXFA789YM9X85M2

The aroma of stale pizza and desperation hung heavy in Molly’s cramped apartment. Bill was meticulously sharpening a rubber chicken with a paring knife. “A rubber chicken, Bill? Really?” Molly asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’re robbing a children's party, not performing a bizarre poultry-themed sketch.” Bill didn’t look up. “Distraction, Molly. Essential. Think about it. Screaming kids, a rogue rubber chicken... chaos. It’ll be like pulling teeth from a sugar-fueled badger.” “It’ll be like being arrested by very disappointed parents,” Molly countered, gesturing at the board covered in blurry photos of bouncy castles and cake-laden tables. “We’re stealing presents, Bill. Not investigating a poultry conspiracy.” “Details, details. Every good heist needs a flourish. Besides," he added with a glint in his eye, "imagine the headlines: 'Chicken Causes Mayhem, Presents Vanished!'” Molly sighed. “You’re going to get us caught.” “Relax. I’ve been practicing the chicken squawk. Listen to this.” Bill puffed out his cheeks and emitted a truly alarming rubber chicken impersonation. Molly winced. “Please, stop. My ears are bleeding. So, logistics. Little Timmy’s tenth birthday, suburban cul-de-sac, three security guards according to Brenda’s intel. Brenda always exaggerates. She said one of them had a trained ferret.” “A ferret? Excellent. Ferrets are easily distracted. A well-placed trail of sausages…” Bill trailed off, lost in thought. “No sausages, Bill! We’re trying to be stealthy. The plan is simple: you create a diversion—preferably something less fowl—while I slip in and grab the presents. Pre-sorted, I hope. I’m not sifting through piles of princess tiaras.” Bill finally looked up, holding the sharpened rubber chicken aloft. “So, no chicken?” “Absolutely not. Think… a rogue clown. A balloon animal stampede.” “A stampede of balloon animals? Molly, that's utterly ridiculous.” “Is it more ridiculous than a man sharpening a rubber chicken to distract children?” Bill paused, considering. “Fair point. Okay, no chicken. Balloon animals it is. I’ve always wanted to work with balloons.” He frowned. “Though, where am I going to get a herd of balloons?” “Don’t ask me. You’re the creative one. And remember, no glitter bombs. Brenda said the mother is brutally sensitive to glitter. Apparently, she had a traumatic experience with a craft project in third grade.” “Right, no glitter. Got it. So, presents. What are we looking at here? Mostly toys, I presume? Remote-controlled cars, dolls, that sort of thing?” “Seems so. Brenda was helpful, for once. She even got a detailed list of gift preferences. Apparently, little Bethany desperately wants a pony… which they are *not* getting. So, stealing that would be particularly satisfying.” Bill grinned. “A pony? Now you're talking. Let's get rich, Molly. And maybe buy ourselves a small, slightly disgruntled pony.” Molly just rubbed her temples. “Just focus on the presents, Bill. And put the rubber chicken down.”