Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAYQX47F3Z9FDMGA3NX6HH

Molly hunched over the cluttered kitchen table in their cramped apartment, a crumpled party invitation spread out like a treasure map. Pinatas and balloon doodles mocked her from the pink cardstock. Bill paced behind her, chugging coffee from a mug that read "World's Okayest Thief." "Listen, Bill," Molly said, jabbing a finger at the address. "Rich kid's bash at the McMansion on Elm. Daddy's some tech bro—presents piled sky-high. We swoop in, snag the haul, vanish before cake time." Bill snorted, spilling coffee. "A kids' party? Molly, those rugrats are feral. One sugar rush and we're dodging sticky-fingered zombies. What's the play? Crash as the ice cream truck?" "Better," she grinned, sliding over sketches. "We go as entertainers. Clowns. I found these online—oversized shoes, red noses, the works. Nobody questions clowns at a party." Bill's eyes widened. "Clowns? Have you lost it? Kids hate clowns! Remember that documentary? Killer smiles under the makeup. And what if there's a real clown already? Double-clown alert!" Molly waved him off. "Pfft, we'll say we're the backup act. You juggle the gifts out to the van while I distract with balloon animals. Sword for the big kid, wiener for the toddlers—keeps 'em busy." "Juggling presents? In those floppy shoes? I'll trip over a toddler and face-plant into the cake," Bill groaned, but his grin betrayed him. "Fine. Entry: Scale the back fence at 2 PM sharp, pre-games. Avoid the bouncy castle—too bouncy." "Exactly," Molly nodded. "Pinata time's our window. While they're whacking candy, we stuff sacks. Exit via the catering van—hitch a ride, dump the clown gear in the alley." Bill rubbed his chin. "Parents are the real threat. Helicopter moms with iPhones filming everything. One viral video and we're meme-famous crooks." Molly laughed. "We'll wear those creepy full-face masks under the makeup. And contingency: If busted, blame the birthday boy. 'He hired us to steal his own gifts for a prank!' Kids love chaos." "You're diabolical," Bill chuckled, high-fiving her. "Load the van with black trash bags labeled 'Party Favors.' We split the take—your cut buys that spa day you've been eyeing." "Deal," she said, eyes sparkling. "Tomorrow, we become the greatest party poopers in history." Bill raised his mug. "To heisting the kiddie jackpot. May no glitter get in our eyes." As they clinked, Molly's phone buzzed—a weather alert for rain. Bill groaned. "Clowns in a downpour? We'll look like drowned rats." "Perfect camouflage," she quipped. "Nobody suspects soggy clowns." They dissolved into laughter, plotting the absurdity that could make or break their clownish caper.