Imperfect Cultural Gathering

You see I'm downing blini, caviar, And frozen vodka shots. I'm with my pals, Two college dropouts, three fine standup gals, And two amigos I met in a bar At university, not very far From stinko, which I'd say is where we are After the seventh blini. Pablo Casals, The meaning of existence, Bach's chorales, And flies spark open minds, our brains ajar. The someone slams El Greco: "He paints crap." Now, who could blame me for expressing hurt? "You, sir," I softly speak, "Are worthless dirt And probably afflicted with the clap." We then exchange three punches, one quick slap, And further pleasantries, both sharp and curt.