“Right, so the bouncy castle is the primary infiltration point,” Molly said, tracing a finger across the smudged diagram of the municipal park. “Little Timmy’s 7th birthday bash is our target.” Bill frowned, his brow furrowed. “The bouncy castle? Molly, are we sure about this? It’s… bouncy. And a castle. For children.” “Precisely, Bill. Nobody, not even those hawk-eyed soccer moms, will suspect two adult professional thieves emerging from what appears to be a brightly colored, inflatable monument to childhood joy. It’s genius.” “Or utterly insane,” Bill muttered, adjusting his spectacles. “And the presents? They’ll be under the giant inflatable unicorn, you said?” “According to our intel, yes. Mrs. Henderson, Timmy’s mother, fancies herself a bit of a whimsical decorator. The unicorn is her pièce de résistance. And its belly will be full of loot.” “Whimsical. Right. So we rappel down the side of a plastic equine, grab the presents, and… what’s the exit strategy again? Your diagram just has a stick figure running away with a bag marked ‘SWAG’.” Molly tapped the diagram. “That’s the beauty of it, Bill. Chaos. We create utter pandemonium. Once we’ve secured the presents, one of us distracts the parents, the other makes a run for it.” “And which one of us is making the run for it with the bulging sack of Paw Patrol action figures and whatever else these tiny tyrants demand?” “Depends on who’s faster, Bill. You’ve been hitting the gym, haven’t you?” Bill puffed out his chest slightly. “Well, I’ve been… carrying things. Heavy things. Like your plans.” “Excellent. Now, for the distraction. I was thinking something involving the ice cream machine.” Bill’s eyes widened. “The industrial-grade, self-serve, sprinkle-dispensing beast? Molly, that thing is a weapon of mass sticky destruction.” “Exactly! Imagine it, Bill. A sudden, uncontrolled gush of strawberry swirl, cascading everywhere. Children screaming, parents scrambling. Pure, unadulterated chaos. We’ll be halfway to Panama before they even notice the missing presents.” “Panama? For a haul of children’s toys? Molly, we normally go for things with more… intrinsic value. Like those Ming vases last month.” “Value is subjective, Bill. The emotional impact of a stolen Transformer is far greater than a chipped vase. Think of the stories! Plus, imagine the look on Timmy’s face when he realizes his entire birthright has vanished. Priceless.” Bill sighed, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. “Right. So bouncy castle, inflatable unicorn, ice cream massacre, and then a mad dash with a sack full of plastic. My life has really taken a turn for the… whimsical.” “Embrace it, Bill! It’ll be fun. And think of the satisfaction. We’ll be the unsung heroes of anti-consumerism, one stolen teddy bear at a time.” “Or the two grown adults who went to jail for robbing a 7-year-old’s birthday party,” Bill mumbled. “Details, Bill, details. Now, have you got the grappling hook ready? Because that bouncy castle isn’t going to scale itself.”