Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ958ZJTDK7BZZPHYC03WPR8

“It’s flawless, Bill. Absolutely flawless,” Molly declared, tracing a greasy finger across a crumpled napkin schematic. Bits of yesterday’s jam clung to the diagram of a suburban backyard. “Flawless? Molly, we’re talking about a party. For five-year-olds. With a bouncy castle shaped like a deranged dragon.” Bill pinched the bridge of his nose, the scent of stale coffee doing little to calm his nerves. “And you want to ‘exfiltrate the primary target package’ during the limbo competition?” “Precisely. Maximum chaos, minimal notice. While little Timmy is contorting himself into a human pretzel under a broomstick, we make our move. The presents will be piled near the patio, right? Adjacent to the inflatable menace.” Molly’s eyes gleamed with an almost terrifying intensity. “Yes, and presumably under the watchful eye of at least three over-caffeinated mothers armed with iPhones ready to document every saccharine moment,” Bill countered, gesturing with a half-eaten donut. “Have you accounted for the glitter bomb trap? You know how these parents are.” Molly scoffed. “Please, Bill. We’re professionals. Besides, the initial recon indicates a severe lack of tactical foresight from the target demographic’s parental units. Their biggest security concern is probably ensuring little Penelope doesn’t hoard all the mini sausage rolls.” “And the clown?” Bill asked, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “Freddy the Fantastic. He’s got connections, Molly. I heard he used to run numbers for Sal Demarco before he found his true calling in oversized footwear and balloon animals.” “Freddy the Fantastic is our diversion,” Molly stated, puffing out her chest. “My preliminary psychological profile suggests an inflated ego, easily flattered. Bill, you’ll engage him. Compliment his balloon sculpting, maybe suggest a dual act later. Buy us five minutes, tops.” Bill choked on his coffee. “Me? Engage the clown? Molly, I have a crippling phobia of painted faces and those unnerving little squirty flowers. They freak me out.” “It’s for the job, Bill. Think of the presents! Imagine the haul,” she urged, her voice taking on a hypnotic quality. “Action figures, remote control cars, miniature tea sets… a treasure trove of consumer-grade plastic dreams!” “A treasure trove of plastic dreams that parents probably snagged two-for-one at Target, only to return them next week for store credit,” Bill grumbled, but a flicker of avarice did spark in his eyes. “What about the dog? Rover. Reconnaissance photos showed a golden retriever the size of a small pony.” “Rover is a simple fix. Peanut butter on a rawhide, tossed over the fence. Elementary, my dear Bill.” Molly folded her arms, a triumphant smirk tugging at her lips. “Your role is critical. You’re the misdirection. The distraction. The unwitting hero of the children’s entertainment circuit.” “So I’m dog-bait *and* clown-whisperer? What are you doing, Molly?” “I’m the logistical mastermind. I’ll be establishing the secure perimeter, monitoring the escape route, and most importantly, gathering the loot. We need two people. One to draw attention, one to collect the prize.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “We’ll be in disguise, of course. Full-body mascot outfits. You’re the friendly bear, I’m the whimsical squirrel. Who’s going to suspect a bear and a squirrel at a kid’s party?” Bill stared at her, then down at the crumpled napkin diagram of children's party mayhem. “A bear and a squirrel… sneaking out with a sack full of Paw Patrol toys. This is a new low, Molly. Even for us.” “It’s a new *challenge*, Bill. Think of the bragging rights. The sheer audacity! Are you in or out?” Molly waited, a terrifying glint in her eye. Bill sighed, pushing his half-eaten donut away. “Fine. But if I get glitter in my fur, I’m blaming you.”