On cultural eliteism

One of my roommates is really great. His name is Mark, and he plays the pipe organ. My other roommate, Elliott, is a different story. He's a cultural elitist.


"Hey Elliott! Let's go get lunch at Pizza Street!"
"I'm sorry. I don't care for prole food. I must admit, I shudder at the mere thought of iceberg lettuce."
"Dude, you're being kind of a cultural elitist. I'll even pay for your pizza."
"Never! I'd rather drink imported sparkling water and eat the finest blood sausage on bone china saucers!"
"Look buddy, I'll even drive."
"I am NOT a BUDDY! A BUDDY sounds like a miniature bud, like one would see on a rosebud bush or something of that nature. I am a GENTLEMAN, and I simply won't eat pizza in the so-called 'buffet' manner, no doubt conceived of by heathens and barbarians."
"Fine. I'll write about you in my blog. People will know about your cultural elitism!"
"LET THEM COME! EN GARDE! I'LL COAGULATE THEIR GUTTERBLOOD INTO SAUSAGE FOR MY CAT!"