“Alright, Bill, walk me through this again. We’re really gonna steal presents from a five-year-old’s birthday party?” “Exactly. Little Timmy's got like twenty kids and a mountain of gifts. We’re talking Lego sets, video games, probably a cake we can sell to some desperate party planner.” “You do realize this is a children’s party, right? Like, sugar-fueled chaos central. How do you even sneak into a room full of toddlers and not get caught?” “That’s where the genius comes in. We’re going in as clowns.” “Clowns? Bill, we talked about this. Last time you dressed as a clown, you accidentally chased a dog into a fountain.” “That was one time, and since then I've perfected the big red nose look. Plus, kids love clowns.” “Yeah, or they scream and cry and parents call the cops. What’s Plan B if that happens?” “I’m thinking Plan B involves a smoke bomb and a very suspicious getaway van.” “Excellent. So subtle. Listen, can we not just… steal from an empty house or a fancy office? Why risk dealing with finger-painting maniacs?” “Because who else throws a party that’s basically an unattended buffet of gifts? Plus, these kids don’t know what they have. That’s our advantage.” “Advantage or not, it’s moral dubiousness on steroids.” “Moral shmorals. Think of it as redistributing toys from the ridiculously fortunate to the ridiculously needy.” “The needy being us?” “Exactly!” “You’re hopeless.” “Thank you, I try. Now, the layout. The party’s at the community center. I scoped it out yesterday. Two entrances, main hall where the cake and gifts are, gym next door for the games, and a poorly locked janitor’s closet. Perfect for stashing loot.” “And the kids? Won’t they notice presents disappearing?” “Not if we’re fast. Timing is everything. Kids will be outside playing pin the tail on the donkey when we strike.” “Pin the tail on the donkey sounds less like a game and more like some medieval torture device.” “It’s a party game, Molly. You blindfold kids and they try to pin a paper tail on a donkey poster. Chaos guaranteed.” “Sounds like heaven. What about the adults? Parents, guardians, party organizers?” “Easy. We blend in. Clown costumes have pockets galore. Slip in some fake invitations, a clipboard, and suddenly we’re part of the crew.” “I’m picturing you trying to fill out a fake clipboard with a crayon.” “Not me. You’re the detail person on this operation.” “Why do I feel like that’s a bad idea?” “Because you overthink. Here’s the play-by-play: we enter at party start, mingle with the parents, distract the kids with balloon animals, then while they’re busy with cake, we gather presents, stash them in the janitor’s closet, and make a clean escape before the chaos kicks back in.” “You think the janitor’s closet is big enough for a pile of loot and two thieves?” “Well, it’s worth a shot.” “Alright, what about the getaway vehicle?” “Remember the clown van I ‘acquired’? Bright yellow, polka dots, the whole nine yards. Kids will think it’s part of the entertainment.” “You’re banking on toddlers thinking a suspicious van is just another clown act?” “Exactly!” “That’s terrifying.” “Hey, desperate times, desperate measures. Any ideas from your side?” “Maybe we bribe the bouncy castle supervisor with candy to keep an eye out? Or at least distract him.” “Candy bribes? Now you’re talking. I knew there was a reason I teamed up with you.” “See? Even on crime, we’re a team.” “First team to steal from a birthday party wins bragging rights forever.” “Unless we get arrested.” “Where’s the fun in not taking risks?” “Alright then, clown suit up tomorrow at 3 PM. Don’t forget the squeaky shoes.” “I refuse to believe you bought squeaky shoes.” “Oh, I didn’t just buy them, I fetishized them.” “You’re a sad individual.” “With a trunk full of stolen presents, thank you very much.”