Get the fuck off my couch
"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. But 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 which prevents ME from living on the street. And all I ask in return is that you not look at me, and my stuff, with holier(earthier?)-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.