Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94JX6X82YY53XQZEFHX4J1

Molly adjusted the battered binoculars, her eye twitching. "There. The pink monstrosity. The unmistakable scent of stale cake and existential dread emanating from that front door. Target acquired." Bill grunted, wrestling with a stubborn piece of sticky toffee. "Looks like a standard juvenile assembly point. What's the acquisition window, boss?" "The window is when the shrieking contingent is pacified. According to the intel – Mrs. Henderson bragging on the neighbourhood forum – the high-value targets are being presented now, stage left, near the slightly deflated caterpillar bouncy castle." "Caterpillar bouncy castle. Excellent. Distraction potential is high. They’ll be too busy avoiding suction-to-the-ribs to notice a professional removing the goods," Bill said thoughtfully. "So, the plan is still the cake-related infiltration?" "No, you numbskull! The cake-related infiltration was *last* week's aborted attempt at the toddler spelling bee. This is the ‘Slightly Over-Caffeinated Clown’ gambit. I wear the oversized shoes and the squeaky nose, you… you stay in the van and look menacing." Bill shifted uncomfortably. "Menacing? But I’m not feeling particularly menacing. I had a lovely omelette this morning. Quite Zen. Can’t I be... a menacing balloon animal artist? Or a silently judging mime?" "Just stay put and be ready. My cue is when the birthday boy is distracted by his parents doing that embarrassing 'Happy Birthday' song. That's your signal to begin Operation: Exploded Party Poppers." "Exploded Party Poppers? That sounds… loud. Messy. And potentially traumatising for the target demographic," Bill mused. "Will there be glitter?" "There will be *all* the glitter, Bill. You’re going to sneak to the side fence and set off three industrial-sized party poppers directly under the neighbour’s window. The loud bang, confetti blizzard, potential ensuing scuffle with Mr. Henderson and his prize-winning petunias – it’ll draw every adult outside for at least ninety seconds." "Ninety seconds. That’s ample time for a swift present liberation," Bill confirmed. "So, I blow up the poppers, they come out, you grab the goods. What if they think the poppers are part of the show? What if they *applaud*?" "They will not applaud the neighbour's sudden gardening crisis, Bill. They'll be too busy confiscating Mr. Henderson's secateurs. While they're dealing with the fallout, I'll be making my exit, bag full. Then it's straight back to the van, easy peasy." "Easy peasy. Right. And after the acquisition? Do we, you know, re-wrap them? I always feel bad about the ripping of the paper. Especially the ones with the shiny dinosaurs." Molly sighed, adjusting her imaginary oversized bow tie. "We sell them, Bill. That's the point of a heist. Now, do you have the lock picks I gave you? The tiny ones that look like sugar strands?" "Sugar strands! Yes! I have them right here! They're quite delicious, actually. Do you think if I taste-test one now, it'll look suspicious if I don't finish it later?" "Just put the sugar strand lock picks in your pocket, Bill. And try not to eat them until *after* we've escaped with the bounty. This isn't a reconnaissance mission for culinary delights, it's grand larceny."