"A children's party, Bill? You sure you wouldn't rather have me break into the Louvre and snatch the Mona Lisa while she's on naptime? This just seems ethically...sticky." Bill snorted, sprawled out on the grimy floor of their hideout, sketching out a detailed floor plan on a pizza box. "Don't be daft, Molly. The Louvre's swarming with guard dogs the size of St. Bernards, laser grids, and security cameras that would make Big Brother blush. A children's party? We'll stroll in, sunlight and balloons dancing around us, grab the glittering loot, and be out before the piñata even knows what hit it." "Except, of course, for the mothers. Those are the real security system, Bill. Their wallets might be empty, their judgement fuzzy from too much punch, but their maternal rage is a force of nature. They'd rip us limb from limb for stealing a child's lavender-scented soap collection. " "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Mol. Most pre-schoolers haven't even figured out inflation yet, let alone possess valuables worth going after. It's about the principle, see? A child's birthday should be a joyous occasion, not a flogging ritual to line the pockets of greedy toy manufacturers." Bill scribbled furiously, adding colorful stick figures to his pizza box masterpiece. "These tiny tykes deserve better. They deserve...practical presents." Molly raised an eyebrow. "Practical? Like exactly what, Bill? A metaphorical lesson in the futility of capitalism?" "Exactly!" Bill struck a heroic pose. "A strategic collection of building blocks, crayons, pencils...we'll leave them with the tools to create their own destiny, unburdened by the materialism of mass-produced, battery-operated garbage." "Bill, they're four. Their idea of 'destiny' is figuring out who gets the bigger slice of chocolate cake." "A worthy goal, my dear Molly. A worthy goal." Bill paused, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "And let's not forget, the real prize isn't the toys. It's the cake. We'll liberate the cake, along with all its sugar-coated, frosting-dipped glory. Think of it: two wayward souls, reclaiming the joy of a simple, sugary treat from the clutches of corporate greed." He leaned back, patting his satchel. "We'll be Robin Hood with sprinkles, Molly." Molly sighed. "Oh, Bill, you're incorrigible."