Molly and Bill huddled in their dimly lit apartment, surrounded by blueprints and party supply catalogs. The air was thick with tension and the smell of cheap coffee. "You sure about this, Molly?" Bill asked, his voice trembling slightly. Molly rolled her eyes. "It's foolproof. Kids, cake, and a mountain of presents. What could go wrong?" Bill nervously twirled a party blower between his fingers. "I don't know. Something about stealing from children feels... wrong." "Grow a spine, Bill," Molly snapped. "We're not stealing from children. We're stealing from their parents." She spread out a crudely drawn map of the party venue on the coffee table, knocking over empty energy drink cans in the process. Bill leaned in, squinting at the scribbles. "So, we enter through the bounce house?" he asked incredulously. Molly nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Exactly. No one will suspect a thing. We'll blend right in with the clowns." Bill sighed, resigned to his fate. As Molly continued outlining their ridiculous plan, he couldn't help but wonder how his life had come to this – plotting to rob a bunch of sugar-high six-year-olds.