Molly strolled into the penthouse, admiring the mounds of toys and presents stacked against every wall. “I'm telling you, Bill, this is going to be the greatest heist of our careers. Think of all the loot!” Bill followed, scratching his head. “But these are presents for kids. Won't they be upset if they don't get any toys?” Molly rolled her eyes. “Kid wants a Beyblades? We'll get him a better one, with a real rotor, not this foam crap.” Bill nodded enthusiastically. “And that giant dollhouse? We should upgrade it to a playroom for an imaginary party.” “Bet the little missy wearing it gets a real ball gown,” Molly said, pulling a Barbie-sized dress off a present topped in gold foil. “Oh, a blow-up unicorn!” She tossed the raggedy plastic pony aside. “Bill, we need to upgrade this whole place, for that room.” Bill snickered as he examined a stack of toys. “We should make it look like it was hit by a train. You know, for ‘character.’” Molly sighed. “Your sense of humor is demented, Bill.” Bill tossed a foam sword up, catching it by the handle. “In all seriousness, Molly, we should get the little ones to help us ‘clean up’ their toys when we're done.” Molly smirked. “Looks like someone's been studying pedagogy.” He grinned. “Hey, I had to study something aside from heists in college.” Molly laughed. “Good thing then, because if the kid is out of the house during the clean-up, we'll end in prison.” “Our perfect plan could go poof!” Bill said, shaking his head. Molly tapped the oversized stuffed animal he was examining. “Hey, Monkey, that's a scary thought.” “Dude, that's an inflatable shark!” Molly shook her head. “You're not helping my professional reputation with all this cutesy-talk.” “That injection will help with the rest of us having bad reputations as well,” Bill whispered, winking. Molly rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh, Bill. Right. And you'll be rubbing the kids' noses in mashed potatoes.” “As the gold container rubbed and bulldozed past the tinys – er, I mean – the kid's house.” Bill coughed. Molly glared at him and shook the teeth-cleaner toy at him. “If you don't come up with some child-appropriate nickname for this little ‘party,’ the Mummy's coming up!” “I'm on it!” Bill said, diving under a dressed up cardboard box. “Hoey Boys!” Molly slapped her forehead. “Too close to ‘Hoey’ for me, Bill.” Bill jumped up, hands up. “Oy boy, we've been found out! We're little toy people!” Another eye roll from Molly. “Bill, we're going to have to get some kind of psychological treatment if we don't tone down that effervescence.” Bill crossed his arms. “The sooner we finish, the sooner you can pave the way back to the loony-bin.” Molly gasped and pretended to turn her face into two loops. “Betyou cutethose two kids even born out of wedlock in my presceny!” Bill grimaced. “Please don't misuse another word.” Molly slapped him with a plush version of a Pez dispenser. “I'm boo-hooing this burglary plan! You've bored even me!” “Are our denims... oh, no... dirtied by that chocolate pudding? Or is that you intent onto being misspelled? Uh... pardon me, the adult-toy algebraic adjectives trap them. We’ll attire them now. Go!” Molly slammed the Pez cannon into Bill's head. “Bill, you had sen-tence: algebraic adjectives. Are you listening at the end?” He rubbed his aching noggin. “Uh... the end.” Molly tsked him and tucked her chin. “Oh, but we can't resolve our occupations with names, Bill. Ping, Pop, or even Panda would suit – not!” “That's because ‘little panda’ rhymes with pygmy panda,” Bill said, voice trailing off. “We’ve been caught!” “And it takes us to Pancake Inn, where we'll have an excellent... oooh,” Molly sang, miming an opera. “Don't be daft,” Bill said. “The pizza bunkered me, and the pizza engineered the pie.” “That's a paragraph,” Molly said, poking him in the chest. “No need to switch cases.” “Molly, that's nonsense – annoying!” She puffed out her cheeks. “Bill, it's in the post-It saying to trip.” Bill turned away. “Molly is bonking again.” She stomped her foot. “Ugh, you're enough junk food. All right then, how about Bonkers and Microbes?” “Bonkers Mickey?” he countered, a glint in his eye. “Oh, your relentless attitude is giving me tonsillitis, Mouse!” she hollered. “Bonkers Bill, go nacho yourself for me!” Bill said, saluting. Molly collapsed against a littered present, uttering the most sanctimonious sigh Bill had ever heard. “Gee, Bill; what shenanigans did you come up with this time?”