It’s an I wanted this baby but at my anatomy scan I found out my baby will die after it’s born blog.

It’s an I’m not financially, mentally or emotionally stable enough to bring a child into this world blog.

It’s an I can’t live with the result of my sexual assault blog.

It’s an I miscarried but the fetus will not evacuate on its own blog.

It’s an I will die if I carry this to term blog.

It’s an I don’t want to be fucking pregnant blog.

It’s a pro-choice blog.

If you see this decision as a win, educate yourself. People with uteruses WILL die. And if that’s okay with you, don’t claim you’re pro-life.

This particular picture is rather special though, because he drew the first draft for it while in space using coloured pencils he took with him:

I trained for years to be a con artist. I told my friends and family that I wanted to be a magician, but that was just a cover for why I was constantly practicing sleight of hand. 

In junior high and high school, I would shop lift a bunch of candy on my way to school, sell it to kids at the morning break, and use that money to run a crooked poker game at lunch.

Finally, when I was 19 or 20, I felt I was ready, and I picked my first pocket. I was on the bus, bumped a guy as I passed down the aisle, got his wallet, super clean.

In the wallet was several hundred dollars. A huge first score, I had been hoping for a couple twenties. I sat there looking at the, like, 400 bucks, thinking.

That was my rent at the time. We were both on the bus. It was likely his rent too. Lord knows the only reason to carry that much cash on the bus is you’re on your way to pay a bill. We were both on the bus, you know? That’s not someone I was comfortable stealing from.

I tapped him on the shoulder and told him “hey i think you dropped this” and gave it back to him with all the money still in it. It was the first and last time I ever picked a pocket.

Picking a rich person’s pocket is a loosing game. They probably have credit cards and not cash, those credit cards probably have the best anti-theft measures their bank can provide, and you probably can’t get close enough to those people to pick their pockets unless you’re already rich yourself.

The people who’s pockets you can reliably pick are the people around you. The people who are also on the bus, who are in this same shitty situation with you.

Our story so far…

// Brian caught a ride to a gig with friends; he eventually realized he’d left the Red Special on the bridge where they’d picked him up.

// Brian showed up for a gig – in Cornwall – and had forgotten to bring the Red Special with him.

// Brian realized halfway through soundcheck for a song that he “didn’t have his guitar on” – he’d been playing air guitar.

// Brian’s chatting while tuning his guitars pre-show, forgets which ones have been tuned (bonus: he tries to plug in an acoustic ukulele).

I find forgetful/scatter-brained/absent-minded Brian absolutely, endlessly endearing. It occurred to me that only a couple of these are linked to each other, so I’m putting them in one post for anyone who may have missed the others. 

Brian being Brian, I’m sure there are many, many more stories out there like these. I’ll be sure to add them to this post when/if I see them.