Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9WVA8PTGQ42PNT38KFKR7

The rooftop breeze tangled Molly’s neon-pink aviators as she squinted through a pair of binoculars at the backyard below. Bill, propped against a rusted AC unit, fumbled with a roll of duct tape—its edge frayed, like he’d been gnawing on it. “Baby ducks,” he said, nodding at the binoculars. “There’s a *tupperware* full of tater tots labeled ‘ALLERGY-FREE’ and a piñata that looks like it’s been crying glitter. You sure this is the place? Not just… *some* party?” Molly lowered the glasses, grinning. “Bill. It’s the *Frost birthday* party. Clara Frost’s mom donates all her kid’s gift money to ‘Underprivileged Pugs.’ But the *pugs* are at the vet. The presents? They’re in that blue tent. Towering. Like, *Lawn gnomes* could hide in there towering.” Bill sighed. “Lawn gnomes aren’t thieves. Thieves check for security. Do they have a gate? A fence? A *dog*?” “Todd, the golden retriever, is currently mid-snog with a helium tank. Mom says he thinks he’s a balloon. Watch.” She pointed. The dog, ears flapping, trotted toward a folded balloon arch, nipping at it. It popped. He skidded to a halt, stared at the confetti, then sneezed. Bill cackled. “Okay, security’s good. Now, the plan: You distract by pretending to be a clown. The one with the whoopee cushion in his shoe. I’ll slip in through the patio—they left the sliding door unlocked ‘cause Todd ate so much cake, he’s passed out on the couch. We grab the presents, swap ‘em for the piñata, and dip. Simple.” Bill’s voice cracked. “And the kids? What if they wake up? What if *Clara*—the host’s daughter—sees me? She’s five. She’ll draw me as a bad guy.” Molly tossed him a lollipop. “Clara’s too busy trying to smash the piñata with a plastic sword. Remember: Kids only notice *more* cake. Or a piñata that’s *already* open. The piñata’s our decoy. The tent? *Fort Knox* for cheap action figures and glittery crayons. Trust me. I’ve watched *Die Hard*.” “Twice. With *commentary*.” Bill unwrapped the lollipop, its cherry flavor strong. “What if the presents are *heavier* than we think? I’ve been skipping leg day.” “Then we use the whoopee cushion. You plop down, yell, ‘MY BACK!’ and they’ll carry *you* out. Problem solved.” She nudged his shoulder. “You’re nervous.” Bill sighed, but there was a smile. “I’m not nervous. I’m *proud*. We’re stealing from a kids’ party. Next thing you know, we’ll be robbing a grocery store. ‘Hungry? Here, take my sandwich. But *my* chips are mine.’” Molly snorted. “Chips are a war crime. Now c’mon. The piñata’s losing its glitter. We gotta deploy the clown before Todd starts humping a birthday balloon.” Bill slung the duct tape over his shoulder, adjusting his clown nose. It was too big, slipping over his eye. “You sure the piñata’s the decoy? What if the *real* loot is in the cake?” Molly paused, squinting. “The cake’s got a candle shaped like a star. If the star lights up… it’s a GPS tracker. But if it doesn’t… we eat the cake. Kids shouldn’t have all the fun.” Bill nodded, determined. “Ready. Let’s rob the pugs. And the birthday girl. And whatever’s in that tent.” Molly grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the ladder. “Atta boy. And if you mess up the clown act, I’m blaming you.” Bill grinned, the duct tape shifted. “Deal. But if we get caught, I’m blaming *you* for the whoopee cushion. They’ll make me miss *Paw Patrol*.” “Paw Patrol’s a distraction. We’re the real heroes. Stealing *presents* for *dogs*. It’s humanitarian.” They climbed down, the clown nose wobbling. Below, Clara screamed as the piñata fell apart, spilling candy. Todd sneezed again, now covered in rainbow confetti. Molly winked at Bill. “Let’s make it quick. The cake’s getting stale.” They slipped into the yard. The party went on. And the presents would be safe—for about ten minutes.