“Right, so the bouncy castle is our biggest hurdle.” Molly chewed on her lip, scanning the blueprints of a suburban backyard. “Bouncy castle? Molly, we’re stealing from a five-year-old’s birthday, not Fort Knox,” Bill grumbled, polishing a pair of binoculars that looked suspiciously like they’d been lifted from a nature documentary host. “Precisely! The sheer unpredictability of inflatable physics, Bill. Think of the trampoline effect. We need a distraction. A big one.” “A clown. Get a clown.” “Too obvious. And frankly, traumatizing. My last encounter with a clown involved a unicycle and a very expensive vase.” “Fair point. What about the gift table? Is it visible from the patio?” “Partially. But the real stash, the good stuff, will be in the kitchen. That’s where the parents will have their own little ‘secret santa’ pile.” “Ah, the adult presents. Nifty. So the kid presents are just a bonus?” “Hardly. It’s a matter of principle. Every toy, every wrapped box. We leave no present behind, Bill. We are Santa’s more… efficient helpers.” “Right. Santa’s morally ambiguous helpers. What about the cake? Can we leverage the cake?” “The cake is key. We need it to collapse in a spectacular, sugary explosion. Right when the presents are being opened.” “A synchronized sugar-bomb, then. I like it. So, a distraction, a kitchen sweep, and a bouncy castle bypass. And what about the dog? Blue Heeler, apparently.” “The dog, Bill, is where the bacon comes in.”