Two of my grandsons were born two years and one day apart, so they usually get a single party. And at ages eight and six, they looove Chuck E. Cheese. I believe I've mentioned here before that you wanted to condemn somebody to a particularly noxious hell, sending them to Chuckie's for eternity would do that.
We spent several eons there this Saturday. Four, five thousand years as I judged it.
It's loud, noisy, the pizza runs a distant second to greasy cardboard, and if you hit the jackpot on one of the games and win a thousand tickets? The best prize you get is a rubber spider; if you don't walk with the care of a ninja on a castle's singing-floor, you'll step on one of the hordes of small children trying to place themselves under your feet; the flashing lights seemed to have been rigged by somebody whose last job was as a psyops specialist hired to break down prisoners for whom waterboarding wasn't enough.
If you want to design a scenario for your self-defense seminar? Put it in Chuckie's house on a crowded, rainy Saturday during the noon birthday session.
The horror! The horror!