"A children's party, Molly? Seriously?" Bill's nose wrinkled. "That's low, even for us." Molly, already dressed in a polka-dot dress two sizes too small, patted his shoulder condescendingly. "Relax, Billy-boy. We're not stealing from children. We're liberating gifts from their inevitable, tragic, juice-stained fate." He snorted. "Tragic? Molly, they're plastic toys wrapped in paper thinner than my patience." "Exactly! Fleeting happiness. We, however, can sell them and buy something truly joyous. Like a year's supply of those donut holes you like." Bill's eyes widened. "The ones with the custard?" "Custard." Molly confirmed, a devious twinkle in her eye. He snatched a rainbow wig from the table, plopping it on his head. "Alright, let's steal some joy."