Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB9XS0NV5KFHGPW6Y4MTTA

Molly and Bill squeezed into the back of their rusty van, parked across from the community center. Blueprints of the party hall sprawled across a greasy pizza box, flanked by fake mustaches, clown noses, and a sack of balloon animals. Molly, wiry and wild-eyed, jabbed a finger at the sketch. "Listen up, Bill. Timmy Turner's turning seven tomorrow. Whole gym packed with snot-nosed brats and their guilt-gift-giving parents. Presents piled high under a balloon arch—bikes, tablets, that new drone every kid's yapping about." Bill scratched his stubbled chin, popping a clown nose onto his face. It honked. "Kids' party? Molly, we're pros, not candy-grabbers. What's the take worth?" "Five grand easy, resale value. Designer dolls, gaming consoles—parents drop cash like it's confetti. We hit at peak chaos: 2 PM, piñata time." Bill grinned, inflating a balloon sword. "Entry plan? Can't just waltz in." "Disguises, genius. I'm Magical Molly, you’re Bozo the Buffoon. We crash as hired entertainers. Fake flyer says we're from 'Party Pandemonium Pros.'" "Brilliant. I juggle pies in their faces, you vanish presents with sleight-of-hand. Poof! Gone into the balloon van." Molly snorted. "No pies—you're allergic to cream. Use the squirting flower. Distract the rugrats with animal balloons. Twist 'em into gift bags. Kids'll think it's a game." Bill twisted a balloon giraffe, which promptly popped. "What about the parents? Hovering like vultures." "Seduce 'em with dad jokes. You do the one about the pirate's favorite letter." "Arrr, it's the C they love! Ha! Then I spike the punch with sleepy-time herbs?" Molly slapped his arm. "No drugs, idiot—that's felony territory. Just hype the magic show. I'll saw you in half behind the cake table, really stuffing swag into hidden compartments." "Compartments in my clown pants? Risky. One kid yanks the wrong string—boom, Legos everywhere." "Exactly—cover! Yell 'Magic malfunction!' Kids love mess. We grab the big hauls: that mountain bike, the PlayStation stack. Roll 'em out on dollies disguised as parade floats." Bill nodded, sketching an escape route. "Exit through the kitchen? Service door to the alley. Van idling, engine muffled with socks." "Socks? Your lucky ones? Fine. Timing: Piñata bursts at 2:15. Candy frenzy—ten minutes to load. In and out like ghosts." "Ghost clowns. What if Timmy cries? Or the birthday dad clocks us?" Molly leaned in, eyes gleaming. "Improv. Blame the dog. Everyone loves a scapegoat pup. We split fifty-fifty, retire to that beach hut." Bill honked his nose. "To heisting the kiddie jackpot!" They clinked root beer cans, blueprints crumpling under excited fists. Outside, party prep lights flickered on. Tomorrow's chaos beckoned.