OLIVER: Please Sir, can I have a bit less?
FAT MAN: Less boy???!!
OLIVER: Yes Sir, Government Health Guidelines state" the average daily intake of gruel for a saintly orphan waif of my size should not exceed 'tragically inadequate' "-you 've given me a ration that is nearly 'pitifully meagre'...
FAT MAN: Hm... 'Your size' being 'too small to get wedged in the average chimney, but small enough to fit in a pauper's grave, dug by a one-armed gravedigger during a diphtheria epidemic'...
OLIVER: Yes, if I put on any weight my boney fingers won't be able to 'half-inch' a silk handkerchief from a doddery Gent, (-who might, by a series of unlikely coincidences, turn out to be my wealthy Grandfather, I shouldn't wonder)
FAT MAN: Ah yes boy, you are truly a 'striver' not a 'scrounger'- I'll take some of your portion and give it to this loveable cockney urchin.
DODGER: Gawd bless you, Guv'nor and no mistake!
FAT MAN: Go join your gang of highly trained young boys, led by a shadowy, older mentor..
DODGER: ...Sylvia Young?...
OLIVER: Thank you Sir...
FAT MAN: Now, leave my food bank and go trade in your Xbox at CashConverters.
