Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA9D5XHW152PAH8ZCPRFVJ

Molly hunched over the cluttered kitchen table in their cramped apartment, blueprints of "Timmy's Superhero Bash" spread out like a war map. Piñatas, bounce houses, and a suspiciously detailed cake diagram dotted the page. Bill paced, twirling a fake mustache that kept slipping off his lip. "Listen, Moll," Bill said, eyes gleaming maniacally. "It's perfect. Kids' parties are chaos central. Parents are drunk on juice boxes, kids are hyped on sugar. We waltz in, snag the present pile—boom, Christmas in July!" Molly snorted, poking the blueprint with a candy cigarette. "Waltz in how, genius? As the balloon man? You'll pop before you hit the door. And those rugrats? They'll swarm us like locusts." Bill grinned, slapping on oversized clown shoes that honked with each step. "Disguises! I'm 'Captain Candybeard,' you’re 'Princess Pinata.' We arrive fashionably late, dazzle with tricks. I juggle the gifts into my sack—" "Juggling? You can't juggle your own excuses!" Molly laughed, but her eyes narrowed. "Entry: back gate by the bouncy castle. Timing: cake-cutting, all eyes on frosting carnage. We pose as late entertainers—blame traffic." "Brilliant! Distraction: I whack the piñata early. Candy explosion! Kids riot, we grab the haul. Presents under that rainbow tarp—Xboxes, bikes, the works. Black market gold!" Molly leaned back, sipping lukewarm coffee. "Escape? Clown car parked in the alley. Engine's shot, Bill. And parents? One whiff of funny business, we're piñata fodder." Bill waved dismissively, practicing a balloon animal that deflated into a sad wiener dog. "Details! We load the booty, honk goodbye, peel out. Swap plates halfway, ditch the clown getup at the strip mall. Split 60-40, my way for the idea." "50-50, or I bail," Molly shot back, smirking. "And no singing 'Happy Birthday'—your voice cracks balloons." "Deal! Imagine it: us, rich off Teletubby toys. No more ramen heists." Molly folded the blueprint, tucking it into her fanny pack. "Fine. Rehearsal tomorrow. But if a kid cries, you're changing the diaper." Bill honked his shoe triumphantly. "To the Candy Heist!" As they high-fived, the table lamp flickered—much like their odds. Outside, suburbia slumbered, oblivious to the clown apocalypse brewing. Molly eyed Bill's mustache, now dangling from his ear. This was going to be a circus, alright.