Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA4GBKVRGGKEP46B4PMFSQ

Molly and Bill huddled in their dimly lit van parked across from the suburban McMansion, blueprints of the backyard birthday bash spread across the dashboard like a kid's crayon drawing. "Listen, Bill," Molly whispered, jabbing a finger at the sketch. "We slip in during the piñata swing—kids blindfolded, swinging like tiny drunk piñates. You grab the present table while I create the diversion." Bill snorted, adjusting his fake mustache. "Diversion? Like what, dress as the clown and juggle grenades? Those rugrats'll swarm us like locusts on candy." "No, genius," Molly shot back, grinning wickedly. "I'll blast 'Baby Shark' from a boombox on steroids. Parents hate that crap—total chaos. You stuff gifts in the go-bag: bikes, dolls, that giant unicorn." Bill leaned in, eyes gleaming. "Unicorn's mine. eBay gold. But what about the cake? Guarded like Fort Knox by sticky-fingered toddlers." "Forget the cake, lardass," Molly laughed. "Presents only. In and out in five. Go-cart getaway parked in the bushes—zoom!" Bill high-fived her. "Brilliant. World's first pint-sized heist. To kid-mugging glory!" As sirens wailed faintly in the distance—wrong neighborhood—they clinked stolen juice boxes, plotting their candy-coated caper.