Run: 2026-03-25-01KMJ7Z9J68EJB42X4D130P99S

Molly crouched behind a shrub, binoculars glued to her eyes. “It’s worse than I thought. Three piñatas, two bounce houses, and—oh no—a clown. A *real* clown.” Bill adjusted his backpack full of duffel bags. “Clown’s not even armed. What’s the worst he can do? Honk me to death?” “He’s holding a chainsaw-shaped lollipop, Bill. That’s not a snack. That’s a psychological weapon.” “So we time it between songs. When they’re all screaming 'Baby Shark,' we’ll move in. Distraction level: maximum.” “Wait—there’s a *parrot* on the clown’s shoulder. Birds ruin everything. Remember Miami? One squawk and the whole operation went sideways.” “Parrots don’t have thumbs, Molly. They can’t dial 911.” “They can peck. And make noise. And possibly remember my face.” “Fine. We use Operation Squirrel. You cause a distraction with the glitter bomb. I grab the loot.” “That glitter bomb blinded us for three days last time.” “It added *pizzazz*.” “This is a children’s party, not a stage show.” “We’re professionals. We don’t care if they’re six or sixty. If it’s wrapped, it’s ours.” “What about the cake?” “Only as a last resort. Frosting slows us down.” “Bill, are we evil?” “Only between 7 PM and 7:05. After that, we’re just misunderstood entrepreneurs.”