"Check the perimeter, Bill." "The bouncy castle's blocking the south flank, Molly. It’s a tactical nightmare." "Did you bring the diversion?" "Six dozen agitated hamsters are in the van." "Excellent. When the clown reaches the balloon animal climax, release them. The toddlers will panic." "And the juice boxes?" "Spiked with industrial-strength sleeping powder. By three o'clock, that living room will be a graveyard of napping four-year-olds." "What about the mother? She looks like she carries mace." "She carries organic kale chips, Bill. One whiff of the hamsters and she'll retreat to the kitchen." "I’m worried about the birthday boy. He’s got shifty eyes." "He’s five. Throw a glitter bomb at his feet and he’ll think he’s ascending to another dimension." "Got the bags?" "Two extra-large Santa sacks. We hit the gift table, prioritize the Lego sets and the motorized scooters, and we’re out before the cake is cut." "I feel bad about the remote-control dinosaur." "Don't get sentimental on me. Crime is a cold business." "Right. Professionalism first." "Hamsters ready?" "Standard formation." "Then let’s ruin some childhoods. On my mark." "Ready." "Go!"