"Molly, you can't be serious," Bill whispered, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Dead serious, Bill. Think about it: mountains of presents, all wrapped up nice and tidy." "But it's a kids' party! We can't steal from children!" "Sure we can. They're spoiled brats anyway. Besides, their parents will just buy them new stuff." "I don't know, Molly. It feels... wrong." "Wrong? We rob banks for a living, and suddenly you've grown a conscience?" "That's different. Banks are insured. These are personal gifts." "Personal, schmersonal. Look, it's the perfect setup. We dress as clowns, blend right in." "Clowns? I hate clowns." "Everybody hates clowns. That's why it's perfect. No one will look twice at us." "And then what? We just grab the gifts and run?" "No, you nincompoop. We stuff them in our oversized clown pants. They'll never suspect a thing." "This is crazy, Molly. Absolutely bonkers." "Crazy like a fox, my friend. So, are you in or out?" Bill sighed heavily. "Fine. But if we get caught, I'm blaming you." "That's the spirit! Now, let's go shopping for some big, floppy shoes."