“Are you sure about this, Bill? Seems kinda low, even for us.” Bill smoothed down his oversized Winnie-the-Pooh onesie. “Lower than stealing a hot dog from a toddler, maybe. But think of the possibilities, Molly! Those presents will be stuffed with gold – designer clothes, the latest gadgets, maybe even a solid gold pony! We’ll be rolling in it.” Molly eyed the bouncy house suspiciously. It wobbled precariously under the weight of shrieking five-year-olds. “You’re basing this on what, exactly? Wishful thinking and a penchant for anthropomorphic bears?” “Call it intuition,” Bill scoffed, adjusting his pointy Pooh hat. “Besides, kids’ parties are ripe for the picking. Parents distracted, mountains of unattended gifts, security tighter than a preschooler’s hug.” He chuckled. “Speaking of which, did you bring the sedative cookies?” “Right here,” she rasped, pulling out a plastic container filled with oddly-shaped treats. “Mrs. Higgins' special recipe. One bite and those kiddos’ll be dreaming of lollipop unicorns instead of ripping open presents.” “Beautiful. Now all we need is our distraction.” Bill pulled out a kazoo, its silver paint chipped and faded. Molly raised an eyebrow. “That’s your big plan? To serenade them with ‘Pop Goes the Weasel’?” “Nah, this baby’s rigged,” Bill grinned, showing off a tangle of wires protruding from the instrument’s bell. “One puff, and it’ll unleash a sonic wave that’ll have those kids begging for earplugs, not presents.” “You do realise that could permanently damage their hearing, right?” “Details, details,” Bill waved a dismissive hand. “They’ll be swimming in gift-wrapped riches soon enough, who cares about a little tinnitus?” Molly sighed. “Only you, Bill, only you. Just then, a high-pitched squeal pierced the air. “Look, Mommy, a real bear!” A small girl pointed at Bill, her eyes wide with awe. Bill puffed his chest out. “Winnie-the-Pooh at your service, little lady,” he boomed, flashing a surprisingly convincing Pooh-like grin. Molly rolled her eyes. “Oh, God. this is going to be a long night.” “Relax, Molly,” Bill whispered, gesturing to the parents who were now flocking towards him, cameras snapping. “Trust me. This is gonna be a piece of cake. Or a… gift-wrapped, solid gold pony. We’ll see what’s on the menu.” He winked, already plotting his path towards the unsuspecting presents, his Pooh hat casting an ominous shadow over the unsuspecting crowd.