Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KB7BYS8X13648RQY2EXTXV

Molly pressed her eye to the peephole of the Bounce-a-Palooza party room, then recoiled as if she’d seen a clown eat a child. “Bill, we’ve got a problem.” Bill, already dressed in a too-tight magician’s costume, adjusted his sequined cummerbund. “Is it the bouncy castle? I told you we shouldn’t have scouted on a full bladder.” “No, it’s worse,” Molly whispered. “They’ve got a balloon artist. He’s making a sword. I counted three parents with fanny packs. And the birthday girl is holding the gift table like a tiny, glitter-frosted Alamo.” Bill leaned over her shoulder. “So we abort?” “Do we look like quitters?” She jabbed a finger at the door. “The presents were bought with corporate money. Overpriced plastic in oversized boxes. That’s a liquid asset, Bill. We’re not leaving without that haul.” “Fine, but my rabbit bit me,” Bill said, wincing. “I can’t do the scarf pull.” “Then do the tearful 'the rabbit died' routine. It’ll buy me time to swap the real gifts for these decoy bricks.” She patted her backpack. “The kids won’t know the difference until they unwrap them. By then we’re long gone.” “I feel bad,” Bill said. “They’re just children.” “Children who will become adults, Bill. Adults with clutter. We’re doing humanity a favor.” He nodded, slowly. “Okay. But if the birthday girl screams, I’m blaming you.” “That’s fine. My name’s Brenda anyway.” “Your name’s not Brenda.” “It is today,” Molly said. She pulled a curly red wig from her bag. “And you’re Professor Wobblebottom, the world’s saddest magician. Need to see your license?” Bill produced a laminated card from his pocket. “Made it last week. It says I’m certified by the International Guild of Amateur Sorcery.” “That’s not a real guild.” “It is in my heart.” Molly rolled her eyes. “Okay, here’s the play. You start with the balloon sword. Make one for every kid. That’ll take ten minutes. Then you do the ‘spontaneous cry’ and run to the bathroom. I’ll be waiting there with the gift sack. We swap, we exit through the kitchen, we leave the bricks wrapped in the same paper. The parents won’t notice until Christmas, and by then we’re in Cancun.” “What if they open them at the party?” “They won’t. The cake comes first. The cake is the sun around which all children orbit. Trust me.” “You’ve done this before?” Molly smiled. “I’ve done a lot of things before. Now get in there and make balloon animals.” Bill took a breath. “One more thing. What’s my catchphrase?” “I don’t know. Something sad and confusing.” “How about, ‘Now you see the joy, now you see my tears’?” “Bill, that’s perfect.” Molly shoved him through the door. “Break a leg. Or a heart. Either works.” The door swung open, and a small voice shrieked, “A MAGICIAN!” Bill turned back, his face pale. “Molly, I forgot how to make the dogs.” “Then make a snake,” she hissed. “Snakes are just sad dogs.” And then the heist began, with a balloon snake, a fake death, and a gift sack full of bricks, all under the unblinking purple gaze of a gorilla piñata.