Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2H10JVN2XV1PV987SZ3KRT

“So the clown is the key.” “The clown is always the key, Bill. We rent a suit, one of us gets funny, the other works the table.” “I’m not being the clown.” “You’re too tall to be a child, Bill. You’d look like a stork who’s failed three grades.” “Fine. I’ll be the clown. What’s the clown’s name?” “Bubbles.” “I’m not answering to Bubbles.” “You’ll answer to whatever a five-year-old screams while yanking your novelty bow tie. What’s the gig?” “I slide in, honk a horn, twist a poodle, keep eyes on me. You?” “I’m the estranged aunt with a tragic gift-wrapping addiction. I swoop in, pile the presents into a stroller, and vanish.” “Whose stroller?” “I’ll borrow one. Park it outside. Maybe put a doll in it for credibility.” “And the loot?” “All those shiny boxes stacked on the buffet table like a glittering, unprotected Fort Knox. Little Timmy’s getting an iPad. I read the tag. Little Timmy’s having a very bad birthday.” “What about the parents?” “They’ll be three Chardonnays deep and filming your tragic balloon animal collapse. We go in when the sugar rush peaks, and leave when the first child vomits.” “That’s our cue?” “That’s nature’s smoke bomb.” “I’ll need bigger shoes.” “I’ll need a bigger stroller. Let’s go practice your squeaky voice.”