Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9XNS225ASE9JHRHMGZZ8J

Molly hunched over the rickety kitchen table in their cramped apartment, surrounded by crumpled maps and half-eaten pizza slices. The glow from a single lamp cast long shadows, making her look like a pint-sized mastermind plotting world domination. Bill, her lanky partner in crime, paced back and forth, his oversized trench coat swishing like a deflated parachute. "Alright, Bill," Molly said, jabbing a finger at a doodled floor plan of the McMansion. "The party's at 2 PM sharp. Rich kid's birthday—think piñatas stuffed with cash equivalents. Presents piled high in the living room. We swoop in, grab the loot, and vanish before the cake's even cut." Bill stopped pacing and scratched his stubbled chin. "Swoop in how? It's a kids' party, Mol. Balloons, clowns, screaming rugrats everywhere. We're not exactly blending with the sippy-cup crowd." She grinned, pulling out two floppy clown costumes from a duffel bag. "Disguises! I'll be Wacky Wanda, you'll be Silly Sammy. Horns, big shoes, the works. No one suspects the entertainment." Bill snorted, holding up the red nose. "Me? In this? I look like a deranged tomato. And what about the parents? They're not idiots—probably hired real clowns already." "We crash the act," Molly shot back, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Show up unannounced, say the agency's double-booked or whatever. Juggle a bit, do some pratfalls. While they're laughing, I distract with balloon animals—" "Balloon animals? You can't even blow up a whoopee cushion without passing out," Bill interrupted, flopping into a chair. "And the presents? How do we haul 'em out? Giant sack over the shoulder like Santa on steroids?" "Exactly!" Molly nodded enthusiastically. "You make the diversion—fake a pie fight or something. I'll snag the gifts through the back door. Load 'em into the van parked in the alley. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy." Bill leaned forward, whispering dramatically. "What if the kids spot us? One of those little monsters tattles, and we're toast. 'Mommy, the clown stole my pony!'" She waved him off. "Kids love clowns. We'll give 'em extra candy to shut 'em up. And if things go south, Plan B: Blame the real clown. Say he framed us in a fit of greasepaint jealousy." Bill chuckled despite himself. "You're insane, you know that? Stealing from a kiddie bash. What's next, robbing the Easter Bunny?" Molly high-fived him across the table. "Hey, if the furries have loot, we're in. Now, practice your honk. We leave at noon." As Bill squeezed the clown horn, letting out a pathetic toot, Molly stifled a laugh. Their heist was ridiculous, but in the world of petty crime, it was the kind of harebrained scheme that just might work—or end in a slapstick chase through a bounce house. Either way, the presents would be theirs, wrapped in comedy gold.