Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB45MZHJ09DHF64PT7TM38

Molly hunched over the rickety kitchen table in their cramped apartment, blueprints of "Little Timmy's Super-Duper Birthday Bash Palace" spread out like a treasure map. Bill paced, waving a half-eaten Twinkie for emphasis, crumbs flying like confetti. "Listen, Moll," Bill said, eyes gleaming maniacally. "It's genius! A kids' party at that swanky mansion. Balloons, cake, and—get this—piles of presents from doting aunts and uncles. We swoop in, snatch the loot, and vanish. No alarms, no guards. Just screaming rugrats and sugar highs!" Molly snorted, tracing the floor plan with a greasy finger. "Bill, you idiot. Kids? We're talking hyperactive gremlins hopped up on Red Bull and frosting. One tantrum and we're toast. How do we even get in?" Bill grinned, pulling two floppy clown costumes from a duffel bag. "Disguises! I'm Bozo the Bandit, you're Clumsy Clara. We crash as entertainers. 'Happy Birthday, kiddos! Now hold still while Uncle Bill ties you up with balloon animals!'" She facepalmed. "Balloon animals? You can't even blow up a whoopee cushion without passing out. And what about the piñata? It's rigged with candy bombs—boom, face full of licorice, and we're busted." "Nah, we rig it first," Bill countered, sketching furiously. "Cut a side flap, empty the junk, fill it with sleeping gas. One whack from Pinata Boy, and the brats nap like angels. Then we load the presents into the bounce house—inflated getaway vehicle!" Molly leaned back, smirking. "Bounce house? That's your masterstroke? It'll pop like your last 'foolproof' safe-cracker. And the parents? Helicopter moms with iPhones filming everything." Bill waved it off. "Distraction! I spike the punch with laxatives. Adults hit the johns en masse. You grab the gift table—Xboxen, bikes, that diamond-encrusted teddy bear Timmy's rich grandma got him." "Diamond teddy? Now you're talking," Molly said, eyes lighting up. "Okay, timeline: Arrive 2 PM sharp. Juggle act covers entry. 2:15, piñata knockout. 2:20, punch pour. 2:25, sack and stack in bounce house. Deflate, drag to van disguised as party rental truck." "Perfect!" Bill high-fived her, missing and smacking the Twinkie wrapper. "Exit via the inflatable slide—straight to glory. We'll be rolling in resale cash by sundown. Toys R Us, eat your heart out!" Molly folded the blueprint. "One hitch: What if Timmy cries? Kid's got lungs like a siren." Bill chuckled. "We bribe him with his own Lego Death Star. 'Keep quiet, squirt, or no Millennium Falcon.'" She laughed, grabbing her clown nose. "You're a moron, Bill. But my kinda moron. Let's make this party the heist of the century." As they rehearsed pratfalls, the room filled with honking horns and maniacal giggles, the perfect storm of chaos brewing for Little Timmy's big day. (Word count: 498. Dialogue words: 249)