Run: 2026-04-27-01KQ70EB2YYMHTH1MGKRQEGV62

Molly tapped the laminated flyer on the diner table. Rain tapped the window. Bill adjusted his crooked tie. So the Johnsons host the neighborhood bash Saturday. Ball pit, pony rides, zero security. Bill stirred his coffee with a bent straw. Perfect. I'll pose as the hired clown. You handle the loot extraction. Extract? Molly raised an eyebrow. You mean grab everything marked from Santa while kids scream? Exactly. We hit the gift table during the pinata chaos. Confetti covers our escape. What if the parents notice? Let them notice. We leave a single sock and a fake ransom note demanding juice boxes. Misdirection, Bill. Misdirection. Right. Do we need disguises? Yes. I'm thinking oversized elf hats. You're the reindeer. We blend into the festive dread. Felting suits? Cheap, flammable, and deeply undignified. We start packing at noon. Don't forget the burlap sacks. Stitched the initials. B and M for martyrs. Keep it professional, Bill. We're thieves, not charity organizers. Sure thing. Just adding holiday spirit. Stick to the schedule. Toys in bag, exits clear, never look back at the weeping toddlers. Got it. Sacks ready by five a.m? Closer to seven. I need time to practice my evil laugh. Just grab the presents, Molly.