Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1J7D2AV2WJ64BQ4B7M8MEK

“Bill, this is our finest hour,” Molly whispered. “A suburban fortress, brightly frosted, guarded by balloon arches and inattentive parents.” “Finest? It smells like juice boxes and moral decay,” Bill said. “I still say robbing grown-ups has dignity.” “Grown-ups label things,” Molly said. “Children tear labels off. Untraceable loot.” “What exactly are we stealing?” “Everything with a bow.” “That’s not a plan, Molly. That’s a festive mood.” “Listen carefully. We arrive disguised as entertainers.” “I can’t juggle.” “You don’t juggle. You loom.” “I do loom professionally.” “Good. I’ll do the talking. You carry the sack.” “A sack makes me feel traditional.” “Then there’s the gift table. We create a diversion.” “With what?” “Cake catastrophe.” “That’s reckless.” “That’s classic.” “And if someone asks who invited us?” “You say you’re Balloon Kevin.” “I look nothing like a Kevin.” “Exactly. It’s disarming.” “What if there’s a clown?” “We bribe him.” “With what?” “Cupcakes. Clowns are vain, not principled.” “And the escape?” “Through the bouncy castle.” “That’s not an exit. That’s a wobbling confession.” “Bill, greatness requires bounce.” “I hate when you say things that sound embroidered on cushions.” “Hush. Do you want presents or principles?” “How many presents?” “All of them.” “…I’m listening.” “Excellent. Practice smiling.” “I have one, but children fear it.” “Perfect. We’ll call it authority.”