Best of Craigslist

[Patchoulia]

OK, this one came from Ottawa...was it one of you?

Facebook: I Love to Hate You

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Date: 2007-06-30, 2:18PM EDT

Dear Facebook,

I love the way you have connected me with old friends from high school and I love the way you allow my friends to keep me up to date the with the weekends activities. Ever since I signed up for you I am no longer a social misfit but a prima donna in the world of drunken cottaging and the Queen of Underground Karaoke parties at the Bytown.

But facebook, there are a few issues that we need to resolve in order to maintain a healthy relationship.

First of all, you allow people from high school that I've never even spoken to add me as their friend. I dont know them other than the fact that we were apparently in the same homeroom together in grade 9 before I got the braces off. Its creepy that they remember the overalls and the plaid raincoat I was wearing the first day of high school. Please do not allow these people to seek me out.

Secondly Facebook you've now allowed not one, but TWO ex boyfriends to seek me out and attempt to add me as their "friend". We are not friends. We broke up because one was banging groupies while touring with the Matthew Good Band and the other was nailing his boss in the Royal Oak's beer room. These are not friends, these are men who couldn't keep their dicks in their pants and I wish them nothing but the most degenerate veneral diseases whores like that can come by.

Facebook, I have also become addicted to you to the point where I display withdrawl symptoms if I am away from you for longer than a couple hours at a time. If Im working I break out into a cold sweat wondering who's added me, who's messaged me and what party invites am I missing. If I go longer than a day without checking you I almost seizure. You are worse than heroin.

Facebook you have also gotten me into trouble by allowing me to log on completely shit faced to the point where Ive spilled my poutine all over my laptop. As you already know, drunken Facebooking is considerably worse than drunk dialing. I can deny calling people on purpose when Im loaded I cannot however deny writing self sabatoging messages on peoples walls and telling a booty call how much I enjoyed his throbbing cock last week on his comment page. Please do not let me log onto you when I am this drunk, clearly Im not thinking properly and the Jager-demon has possessed my body / mind.

As well Facebook please stop with the fortune cookies, hugs, smilies, horoscopes, "which family guy character are you" quizzes and other inane bullshit that I must weed through evetytime I log on. Seriously, its annoying and it must stop.

Now Facebook, Im not trying to bring you down, I do love you, I just think we need to communicate with each other to remedy these paticular issues. Especially the drunk one, Sara is still not talking to me. If we can set aside our differences you'll see that we are a match made in virtual Heaven.

Hugs

Me

[Ms.Huxtable]

[color:purple]Ahhh, if only I were single.

[Patchoulia]

Anyone ever been caught...

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Date: 2006-07-27, 1:34PM CDT

...doing the most private of private things?

Last night my girlfriend came home earlier than she ever has and caught me, naked, watching porn, and stroking it with a mask and snorkel on.

There's not really much to say at that point. She walked right past me and went into the bedroom. I quickly turned the porn off, put on some pants, and took the mask and snorkel off. Five minuets later she came out of the bedroom and asked how my day was... it was like she didn't just catch me throttling myself with a mask and snorkel on. The rest of the evening went as normal. We had baked chicken and green beans for dinner, and then watched the simpsons.

I don't really don't know what else to say.

[Basher]

Now THAT is awesome.

[jaybone]

This thread has provided countless laughs.

It is both funny and informative.

A+

[timouse]

A Tip for Cellphone Junkies: A Phone is Not an Invisible Forcefield.

Date: 2005-04-14, 9:57AM EDT

Yes, that was me who ran into you this morning on the way to work and didn't apologize. What did you expect? You were weaving all over the sidewalk like an old drunk trying to get home. It was enough to trying to get around your zombie carcass in the first place. Am I supposed to predict your next thoughtless sideways move based on the pseudo-voice coming through that piece of plastic?

Next time you have to take or make a call, instead of pacing around like you're in a protective bubble, why not try standing against a building? I know you think you're "multi-tasking" by walking and talking, but you're not. You're only talking and you're in everyone else's way. You are lulled into a state of non-reality when you have that thing against your head. You're the one who should be apologizing for being such a drone. Wake up and snap out of it.

[Patchoulia]

This thread has provided countless laughs.

It is both funny and informative.

A+

hahahaha

I forgot about the "funny" and "helpful/informative/useful" requirements for posting here--phew!

[Patchoulia]

Man, it's really too bad this opportunity has passed...I can think of a few folks 'round these here parts who could have made a few extra bucks answering this particular ad on Craigslist!

Seeking Adult Drunk Clown for 30th Birthday party

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Date: 2008-08-26, 3:22PM CDT

We need an Adult Drunk Clown who is good at getting drunk and stupid.

No need to do any clown tricks, just hang out and drink a shit load.

We will be hopping around to different bars and want a clown to tag a long and drink heavily. He doesn't even need to socialize with anyone, just drink.

The birthday is on Friday, Sept. 5th in Bucktown.

Oh, did I mention that the clown needs to get shitfaced?

Don't worry, we will purchase all the drinks.

[Basher]

Hmmm, dress like a clown and get all the free drinks you can stomach.

Yeah, there woulda been a few takers around here.

[Patchoulia]

HENCHMEN NEEDED

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Date: 2008-08-05, 2:34PM BST

20-30 henchmen needed for moderately-sized supervillain organisation with large expansion potential (fortresses built into geological structures, corruption of government officials, possible genesis of 'nemesis' vigilante). Electrical theme.

Applicants must be willing to learn new skills, including but not limited to operation of specialised 'lightning guns'. Applicants will also be required to wear specialised uniform when at work (functional rubber suits with my logo on front), except in cases where deception is required (posing as hostages in order to ambush vigilantes, etc).

Desired (but not necessarily required) in applicants:

-interesting deformations/obsessions/powers(?) giving rise to interesting nicknames (e.g. Claws, Pyro, Buzzsaw, and similar)

-unwavering loyalty

-being a corruptible government official

-ability to work as part of a close-knit team (unless interesting obsession is of the 'lone wolf' variety)

-grudge against any well-known vigilante

-flexible moral code

Equal opportunies employer. Both henchmen and femmes fatales absolutely welcome.

Great promotion opportunities - right-hand-man position constantly being unexpectedly opened. Would look good on any future supervillain resume/CV.

Send an email with details of any prior henchman work, or details of what is driving you to join the ranks of a supervillain organisation. Will reply to all serious applicants. Hope to hear from you, and with luck, welcome you into a rewarding and promising career!

- Jacque (The Zapper) Zerapi

Location: London, but planned worldwide expansion

Compensation: £20,000pa starting salary, with added commissions based around success of supervillain operations. Contracts negotiable depending on applicant's personal skills/powers.

Principals only. Recruiters, please don't contact this job poster.

[bradm]

HENCHMEN NEEDED

Location: London, but planned worldwide expansion

Hmmmm...

Aloha,

Brad

[Booche]

To The Girl In The Parking Garage

It was late. We happened to be walking on the same path. I knew you were nervous--I would be too if I was a petite female, walking alone on a desolate and dark city street at 1:00 a.m.

You were about fifty feet in front of me. I was going to turn right. You turned right. Soon, I was going to turn left. You turned left. I tried walking slower to let you get ahead of me. Unfortunately, you decided to walk slower at the exact moment I did. I then decided to start walking very fast, so that I could pass you by, let you be in control of the situation by being behind me. You started walking fast at the exact moment I did.

I considered taking another turn or stopping for a smoke. Anything to let you get way ahead of me, to get me off of your path so that you could relax because I know you thought you were being followed by a strange man. It was cold as fuck outside though, so I continued walking toward my destination, a parking garage. I somehow knew this was your destination as well.

You walked into the sanctuary of the garage, and I paused to have a smoke. With the luck I was having, you were probably parked right next to me and the coincidence would press the situation enough for me to get maced, I thought.

The freezing wind helped me smoke my cigarette down to the filter in record time, but I thought my nicotine break gave you enough time to get to your car without some strange guy on your heels. I got in the elevator and pushed the button for the fifth floor, where I was parked.

The elevator stopped on floor 3. The doors opened. And there you were. You forgot where you parked. I wouldn't have been offended if you didn't get on the elevator, but you did. You shrank away from me, and I could your fear along with the strong fragrance of whatever alcohol you had been drinking all evening. You didn't push a button on the elvator. Of course, you were getting off on my floor. Shit.

I wanted to get off the elevator first to show you that I wasn't stalking you, to let you walk behind me for a change. Unfortunately, when the elevator doors parted you were off like a horse at the gate. You walked fast, I walked slowly. We were both headed in the same direction, again. It was at this point that I started to become a bit angry, not so much at you, but at the truths of society that helped to create this uncomfortable situation. So I walked slowly, and felt like the killer in a B horror movie who always catches up with the victim no matter how slowly he walks or how quickly the female victim runs.

To make things worse, a penny was stuck in the grooves of the sole of my shoe. You walked quickly, and behind you you heard the "clink-clomp" of my shoe and penny laden shoe hitting the hard concrete. You panicked at this point, I think. Thankfully, you I saw you turn left up the ramp, and I went right, toward my car.

The parking deck was empty of cars, save mine and one parked right next to it. I absolutely knew the car next to mine was yours. You were now wandering around the sixth floor I think, either avoiding me and waiting for me to leave or truly drunk and lost. I got in my car, started it up and let it warm up a bit. I wanted to help you. . .and then I saw you in my rearview mirror. Miss, whomever you are, please don't ever accept a ninja or spy job, because you are horrible at trying to conceal yourself from view. Maybe it was the bright pink scarf dangling over the edge of the ramp or the fact that you were perched right underneath a bright halogen lamp, but I could not only see you trying to hide, watching me in my car, but you stuck out like a turd in a punch bowl.

I sighed, put my car into gear, and backed out of my space. I backed out a bit too far, cut the wheel and found my headlights right on you, completely illuminating and exposing your already horrible hiding place. Your eyes looked haunted, like that famous National Geographic cover featuring the woman with the 'haunted eyes.'

The apology: I'm truly, truly sorry that at that point I flashed my brights and honked my horn at you like I was firing a machine gun. You jumped and, I think, screamed, but at this point the whole situation had gone too far for me. I also think you needed to sober up a bit more before you got behind the wheel of your car.

As I pulled away, I smiled and waved at you. You gave me the finger. I probably deserved your wrath at this point, but please: In the future, get someone to walk you back or take a cab. You stink at being stealthy. I hope your hangover wasn't too bad.

[bokonon]

That's hilarious! Not really big on the drunk driving (don't get me wrong, i love to drink, i love to drive but i suck at both so i don't mix them) so she totally deserved the honk and brights! Scare her sober!

[timouse]

HENCHMEN NEEDED

Location: London' date=' but planned worldwide expansion[/quote']

Hmmmm...

Aloha,

Brad

[Patchoulia]

Sadly, the following is NOT an exaggeration...I'm also concerned that I don't remember writing it or submitting it to Craigslist...I must have been sleep-blogging or something at the time...

I don't want to be a woman anymore. Thank you.

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Due to my last drinking fiasco, I was determined never to drink again.

Unfortunately, I hadn't taken into consideration the fact that I had to attend a baby shower AND a wedding in one measly weekend.

Tell me how to traverse that hellacious terrain sober!

You can't.

If you are a male reader, you may not understand the colossal burden specific to women - we are expected not only to attend every shower and wedding that comes down the pike, but we're expected to enjoy it.

Well, fuck that. I didn't inherit that gene.

Being happily childless, going to a baby shower is akin to having a piranha give you oral sex.

Guaranteed things that will occur:

1. Several annoying hags will ask you, "So when are YOOOOOOOOOOU going to have a baby? Hmmm?", as they look disapprovingly over the tops of their glasses. These same hags will shake their heads sadly when you inform them, "I would rather dip my face in acid then have my crotch ripped open by a head the size of a pumpkin, thank you."

2. You will be forced to play insipid games such as "Decorate Someone with Toilet Paper", or "The Clothespin Game". If you're a woman, you know what I'm talking about. If you're a man, get on your knees and thank jeebus you have a penis.

3. You will have to eat finger sandwiches. Okay, this shower is at lunch time, therefore, I want food. I don't want watercress and air sandwiches with a side of jordan almonds, mmmkay?

4. You will have to sit through the opening of 5000 presents, each one of which will be held up for the requisite "oooh" or "aaah".

Word to the wise: Don't drunkenly yell out, "That headband is going to make your daughter look like she has a garter on her head and is heading out to a baby prom."

This is frowned upon.

5. You will have to sit through hours of what I like to call "Delivery Horror Story Porn". This is where every mother at the shower will give you the story of all their deliveries in 3D Technicolor. For example:

"I tore from front to back! 35 stitches!"

"I delivered a placenta the size of a Labrador Retriever!"

"My kid was stuck in the birth canal for 72 hours, she had a conehead!"

"My boobs deflated after I stopped nursing and now they look like windsocks!"

When they see the look of utter repugnance on your face, they will try to convince you that:

"It's a beautiful experience!"

"You forget the pain!"

"You'll never understand anything in this world or be a complete person unless you experience it!"

Alcohol should be served mandatorily at baby showers. Since it's not, be sure to bring your flask.

Personally, I would rather watch the 49'ers lose for the millionth time than go to another shower, but since I have a vagina, I'm sure I'll be forced to attend many more.

[Hal Johnson]

hahahaha, that's brilliant.

[bokonon]

Sadly, the following is NOT an exaggeration...I'm also concerned that I don't remember writing it or submitting it to Craigslist...I must have been sleep-blogging or something at the time...

I don't want to be a woman anymore. Thank you.

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Due to my last drinking fiasco, I was determined never to drink again.

Unfortunately, I hadn't taken into consideration the fact that I had to attend a baby shower AND a wedding in one measly weekend.

Tell me how to traverse that hellacious terrain sober!

You can't.

If you are a male reader, you may not understand the colossal burden specific to women - we are expected not only to attend every shower and wedding that comes down the pike, but we're expected to enjoy it.

Well, fuck that. I didn't inherit that gene.

Being happily childless, going to a baby shower is akin to having a piranha give you oral sex.

Guaranteed things that will occur:

1. Several annoying hags will ask you, "So when are YOOOOOOOOOOU going to have a baby? Hmmm?", as they look disapprovingly over the tops of their glasses. These same hags will shake their heads sadly when you inform them, "I would rather dip my face in acid then have my crotch ripped open by a head the size of a pumpkin, thank you."

2. You will be forced to play insipid games such as "Decorate Someone with Toilet Paper", or "The Clothespin Game". If you're a woman, you know what I'm talking about. If you're a man, get on your knees and thank jeebus you have a penis.

3. You will have to eat finger sandwiches. Okay, this shower is at lunch time, therefore, I want food. I don't want watercress and air sandwiches with a side of jordan almonds, mmmkay?

4. You will have to sit through the opening of 5000 presents, each one of which will be held up for the requisite "oooh" or "aaah".

Word to the wise: Don't drunkenly yell out, "That headband is going to make your daughter look like she has a garter on her head and is heading out to a baby prom."

This is frowned upon.

5. You will have to sit through hours of what I like to call "Delivery Horror Story Porn". This is where every mother at the shower will give you the story of all their deliveries in 3D Technicolor. For example:

"I tore from front to back! 35 stitches!"

"I delivered a placenta the size of a Labrador Retriever!"

"My kid was stuck in the birth canal for 72 hours, she had a conehead!"

"My boobs deflated after I stopped nursing and now they look like windsocks!"

When they see the look of utter repugnance on your face, they will try to convince you that:

"It's a beautiful experience!"

"You forget the pain!"

"You'll never understand anything in this world or be a complete person unless you experience it!"

Alcohol should be served mandatorily at baby showers. Since it's not, be sure to bring your flask.

Personally, I would rather watch the 49'ers lose for the millionth time than go to another shower, but since I have a vagina, I'm sure I'll be forced to attend many more.

I'm going to make about a hundred and seventy copies of this to send back as RSVP for every shower, wedding or buck and doe I'm asked to attend.

[Velvet]

I suspect you'd only have to do that once Bokonon, and next year you wouldn't have to worry about any of those kind of events!

I don't think I've ever been to Craigslist, but I thought it was a site for selling things. Then again, I thought Ween was thrash-metal before I listened to them. Am I wrong? What is Craigslist about?

[Patchoulia]

It's basically on online bulletin board--so selling stuff, real estate, personals, etc etc.

[Booche]

I have a bike for sale...

What kind of bike? I don't know, I'm not a bike scientist. What I am though is a manly guy looking to sell his bike. This bike is made out of metal and kick ass spokes. The back reflector was taken off, but if you think that deters me from riding at night, you're way wrong. I practiced ninja training in Japan's mount Fuji for 5 years and the first rule they teach about ninja biking is that back reflectors let the enemy know where you are. Not having a rear reflector is like saying "FUCK YOU CAR, JUST TRY AND FIND ME".

The bike says Giant on the side because it's referring to my junk, but rest assured even if you have tiny junk that Giant advertisement is going to remain right where it is. I bought this bike for 300 dollars from a retired mercenary that fought in both World War 1 and World War 2 and had his right arm bitten off by a shark in the Phillipines while stationed there as a shark handler. When he sold it to me I had to arm wrestle him for the honor to buy it. I broke his arm in 7 places when I did. He was so impressed with me he offered me to be his son but I thought that was sissy shit so I said no way.

The bike has some rusted screws, but that just shows how much of a bad ass you are. Everyone knows rusted screws on a bike means that you probably drove it underwater and that's bad ass in itself. Those screws can be replaced with shiny new ones, but if you're going to go to that trouble why not just punch yourself in the balls since you're probably a dickless lizard who doesn't like to look intimidating.

The bike is for men because the seat is flat or some shit and not shaped like a dildo. If you like flat seated bikes you're going to love this thing because it doesn't try to penetrate your ass or anything.

I've topped out at 75 miles per hour on this uphill but if you're just a regular man you'll probably top it out at 10 miles per hour. This thing is listed as a street bike which is man-code for bike tank. The bike has 7 speeds in total:

Gear 1 - Sissy Gear

Gear 2 - Less Sissy Gear

Gear 3 - Least Sissy Gear

Gear 4 - Boy Gear

Gear 5 - Pre-teen Boy Gear

Gear 6 - Manly Gear

Gear 7 - Big Muscles Gear

I only like gear 6 and 7 to be honest.

Additionally, this tool of all immense men comes with a gigantic lock to keep it secure. The lock is the size of a bull's testicles and tells people you don't fuck around with locking up your bike tank. It tells would-be-thieves "Hey asshole, touch this bike and I'll appear from the bushes ready to club you with a two-by-four".

Bike is for 150 OBO

[bokonon]

I suspect you'd only have to do that once Bokonon, and next year you wouldn't have to worry about any of those kind of events!

I don't think I've ever been to Craigslist, but I thought it was a site for selling things. Then again, I thought Ween was thrash-metal before I listened to them. Am I wrong? What is Craigslist about?

Why don't you just go to Craigslist if you really want to understand it? Just sayin'......

[bokonon]

You know, I was thinking about my above post regarding mailing out copies of that craigslist ad as RSVP's. I think it is easy to misconstrue what I meant as I wasn't very clear and didn't elaborate.

It's not that I'm not happy for people who are getting married and having babies, quite the opposite in fact. It's just that I don't want to go to some event that is really boring, expensive and I don't know anyone. i'd rather just hang out with the people in question when we've all got some time and celebrate in a more casual, relaxed atmosphere. I don't like getting dressed up, I don't like stuffy atmosphere, I don't like pretending to be nice to people that I don't like and I don't like pretending to have a good time while gritting my teeth. I'd rather celebrate in a non-formal and personal manner. No formal gatherings and no formal clothes for me!

If I ever get married I'm going to elope and come back, make the announcement and have a barbcue in my yard or something.....and have Wassabi play it!

[jonyak]

You know, I was thinking about my above post regarding mailing out copies of that craigslist ad as RSVP's. I think it is easy to misconstrue what I meant as I wasn't very clear and didn't elaborate.

It's not that I'm not happy for people who are getting married and having babies, quite the opposite in fact. It's just that I don't want to go to some event that is really boring, expensive and I don't know anyone. i'd rather just hang out with the people in question when we've all got some time and celebrate in a more casual, relaxed atmosphere. I don't like getting dressed up, I don't like stuffy atmosphere, I don't like pretending to be nice to people that I don't like and I don't like pretending to have a good time while gritting my teeth. I'd rather celebrate in a non-formal and personal manner. No formal gatherings and no formal clothes for me!

If I ever get married I'm going to elope and come back, make the announcement and have a barbcue in my yard or something.....and have Wassabi play it!

will you marry me?

[Patchoulia]

The Most Evil Thing I've Done (?)

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I was waiting at the end of the long walkway that all arriving Midway Airport passengers come down.

With a huge smile on my face and a rose in my hand, I searched all the returning passengers' faces looking for my fiancee.

I was directly facing the walkway, and there was a large, round pillar behind me. I didn't have to worry about people trying to get around me, because the pillar parted people to either side like Moses did to the Red Sea.

After waiting and leaning against the pillar for a bit, I thought I saw my girlfriend and stepped forward about three feet and set my backpack on the ground.

It wasn't my fiancee. I was about to lean against the pillar again when I felt this rush of air behind me and heard the sound of my back pack being kicked.

Two cute little hispanic kids, a little boy and girl, were chasing each other around the pillar.

The boy who kicked my bag, accidentally I presumed at this point, stopped running around the pillar long enough to apologize to me.

"It's okay kid," I said with a smile and moved my backpack forward a bit to give the kids more running clearance.

They were just kids, they were adorable, and hell--he actually apologized! I only felt the mildest of annoyances at the thought that the moment I stepped forward for three seconds, suddenly my pillar of protection was gone. No biggie.

So there I stood, watching and waiting.

I heard the giggles of the kids behind me, still playing the "running around the pillar game".

Then, THWOCK!, my backpack was kicked again.

"Sorry," the little boy said, again.

"It's okay. . .Let me move it out of the way more."

No biggie. Kids make mistakes, often more than once.

By this point, it was taking my fiancee forever to arrive. The kids behind were getting louder and louder, and I was becoming slightly annoyed. Then, sure enough, THWOCK!, my backpack was kicked a third time.

God damn it.

I gave the kid a puzzled, "what's up with that?" stare.

He had an impish--not innocent--smile on his face, and I knew that this kid was screwing with me.

Through giggles, the kid said, "Sooorrrrrry!".

He then stuck his toungue out at me and began running all over the place like a caffeinated spider monkey.

What a little shit.

Okay, I was angry now, but not as angry as when I looked over to my left and saw a hispanic man and woman smiling in my direction, and looking at the kids.

The little girl ran up to the woman to ask her something, then ran away with her ritalain-deprived brother.

Sigh.

Of course, it was the parents, smiling at a situation that I would have gotten a slap on the ass for if my parents caught me kicking someone's backpack around Midway airport.

Soon, the kids began running around the pillar again. I picked up my backpack immediately, and I swear that the boy laughed when I did.

And then, I had an idea.

Actually, the idea came about by the pressure in my stomach. I had eaten a huge bowl of chili for lunch earlier that day. . .

Should I? I asked myself.

You're damn right! I answered.

I timed it perfectly.

Again, I was only about 3 feet in front of the pillar, and it took only minor adjustments to get my bum into place.

The kid ran around the pillar one time--I calibrated the height.

The kid ran around the pillar a second time. I changed the angle of my bum a bit to try to hit him head on.

The kid ran around the pillar a third time. . .and I let it rip!

A direct hit!

Right as the kid rounded the corner of the pillar like a little hispanic sunrise over a planet, my loud, ass-cheek-shaking chili fart hit him right in the face. His mouth was open too!

It was carnage.

"Ahhhh!" the little boy screamed, and fell to the ground.

The little girl, who was directly behind him, tripped over him and went flying into her Mom and Dad.

Then, it was a blizzard of Spanish words, flying everywhere: At the girl, at the boy and at me.

The boy was crying now. The mother tried to comfort him, and I, myself, started giggling.

All that was going through my mind was, how do you comfort a kid after some stranger just farted in his face? The father then screamed a flurry of spanish at me and actually waved his finger at me.

Why didn't the father wave his finger at his son when the little bastard was kicking my backpack?

To try to explain this to him, I pointed at his son, held my packpack above my foot and kicked at it. This only enraged him further, because he only screamed louder and faster, and I heard a few swear words in his rant. I couldn't help myself. I started laughing. I thought the father was going to have a stroke and/or punch me, but he did neither. Holding the hands of the traumatized son and daughter, they began to walk away while still screaming the occassional Spanish at me.

Was this evil of me? Is it more evil that it made me laugh? Is it wrong that even now, days later, It still makes me feel good?

[Patchoulia]

Get the fuck off my couch

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Today, I heard the same sanctimonious, self-righteous line that I've heard over the years from every deadbeat, unmotivated, lazy hippie/roomate/boyfriend I've ever had/known:

"Well, everything I own could fit in this backpack/truck. I'm not a slave to my possessions, man."

Well, I have a response for you (especially the hippie who pooped in my yard):

GET THE FUCK OFF MY COUCH.

That's right, my comfortable couch that I've let you sleep on - I own that couch and bought it with money that I earned at a job.

Furthermore: Stay out of my bed, give me back all the books and movies and cds and clothes I've loaned you, turn out the lights cause it's my electricity, get off my computer, figure out how to cook and eat your food without my pots and pans and plates and silverware, give me back the pictures taken with my camera, stop watching my TV while sitting on my couch, and take a walk to wherever the fuck you need to be because my car is no longer in your service!!!

Materialism warps peoples' minds, yes.

And I don't own anything (except my grandmother's desk, perhaps) that I wouldn't mind selling in a minute if an opportunity came up to lead a better life in a non-material world.

The thing is, you and I both live in the US, and without these many things that I own and you use, you might as well be living on the street.

"Well, I'd rather live on the street than sell out?" you say? THEN GET THE FUCK OFF MY COUCH and live on the motherfucking street!

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm a generous person. I don't want you, sweet hippie/roomate/boyfriend, to live on the street, or with your evil mother, which is where you were before you sweet-talked your way here. So I let you use my stuff.

All I ask in return is that you not look at me, and my stuff, with that holier/earthier/hippier-than-thou disdain and lecture me on the evils of owning stuff, when you use it just as much, if not more, than I do.

If you want to lecture me on the comfortable lifestyle I share with you, my couch is not a soapbox, so GET THE FUCK OFF MY COUCH.

Thank you.