Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8VSCXQV269ZZ3WKJ0F3WZ1

The air in the van was thick with the smell of old coffee and desperation. Molly, her eyes gleaming behind a pair of rhinestone-studded reading glasses, tapped a detailed schematic spread across the fold-down table. “This,” she declared, “is the motherlode. The Smythe-Vanderbilt birthday extravaganza. Six-year-old Timmy. His father is in novelty whoopee cushions. The net worth of gifts in that sunroom is… staggering.” Bill, a man who looked permanently like he’d just bitten into a lemon, squinted at the drawing. “You dragged me here at dawn to plot the theft of a six-year-old’s Legos?” “Not *just* Legos, Bill. Think bigger. We’re looking at premium, organic, gluten-free play-doh. A miniature electric car. A signed rookie card from that kid’s show hamster, ‘Binky.’ This is a high-value target.” “It’s a backyard party. With a bouncy castle.” “Which provides perfect acoustic cover!” Molly pointed a laser pen at the blueprint. “Our window is during the piñata frenzy. Chaos. Sugar-fueled anarchy. You, dressed as ‘Binky the Hamster,’ will create a secondary diversion by ‘accidentally’ setting the clown’s pants on fire.” Bill stared. “I’m not wearing a giant hamster costume.” “It’s a key part of the plan! I’ve already procured it. It’s… ventilated.” “How do you even set a clown’s pants on fire?” “A small, theatrical smoke pellet and a whoopee cushion filled with lighter fluid. Timmy’s dad’s connections finally pay off.” She beamed. “While the adults are dealing with a flaming, shrieking clown, I slip in through the side gate, which will be unlatched because the caterer is secretly my cousin Cheryl, load the presents into a gift bag-lined wheeled cooler, and exfiltrate via the neighbor’s hedge.” Bill massaged his temples. “A wheeled cooler.” “Disguised as a beverage cart! Genius, right?” “What about the kids? They’re tiny, but they’re observant. And vicious.” “We have counter-measures.” She held up a bag of glitter. “Stage two: the glitter bomb. Deployed at the mouth of the bouncy castle. It’s the herpes of the craft world. They’ll be finding it until they’re thirty. Total sensory overload. They won’t notice a thing.” “And the exit strategy?” “Cheryl drops us at the park. We switch vehicles. The presents get unwrapped at the secondary location—my grandma’s garage. She thinks we’re running a charity toy drive. We fence the big-ticket items online. The rest, we unload at a flea market two towns over. Clean. Elegant.” Bill studied the blueprint again, a slow, grudging respect dawning on his face. “The hamster thing is non-negotiable?” “The Binky suit is the linchpin.” He sighed, a long, suffering sound. “Fine. But I want a bigger cut. Hazard pay for rodent-based espionage and potential arson charges.” “Sixty-forty.” “Deal.” He leaned back. “What’s the contingency if the hamster head falls off?” Molly’s smile didn’t waver. “Improvise. Squeak loudly and run. But it won’t. I used industrial-grade Velcro. This is going to be smooth, Bill. Our biggest score yet.” Outside the van, a bird chirped. Somewhere, a six-year-old’s future happiness was being meticulously plotted, one absurd detail at a time.