Molly and Bill huddled in the dimly lit alleyway, poring over the schematics of the birthday party they were about to hit. The smell of stale pizza and exhaust fumes filled the air as they whispered in hushed tones. " Alright, so we've got the blueprints, we've got the disguises, we've got the getaway plan," Bill said, ticking off each item on his fingers. "What's the one thing we're missing?" Molly squinted, her eyes scanning the layout of the party venue. "The one thing we're missing is a convincing 'nice-guy' attitude. We need to blend in with the suburban dad crowd." "I can do that," Bill said, puffing out his chest. "I've been practicing my 'Honk Honk, Who's a Good Boy?' face in the mirror." Molly raised an eyebrow. "That's not a thing, Bill." "It's a thing, trust me. I've got the whole 'I'm just here for the free food' vibe down pat." Molly sighed. "You're going to stand out like a sore thumb in a sea of khaki pants and golf sweaters." "Hey, I resent that," Bill said, offended. "My jeans are a nod to colonialism, not khaki." "With the pleats? You look like you're trying to smuggle a small animal in your crotch," Molly deadpanned. Bill looked down, then back up at Molly. "Shut up, I'm a master of disguise."