Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
MAAM hospitality includes tea, biscuits and a legally worrying number of teeth.
Brian survived MAAM territory by pretending his moustache was an endangered species.
Space Cheese distracts MAAM aliens for exactly nine seconds. Use those seconds wisely.
Karen has negotiated a treaty based on snacks, distance and shouting.
A successful delivery is one where nobody sues the moustache.
My moustache was mistaken for a diplomatic flag by a traffic warden moon. Negotiations remain itchy.
Collected vinegar near the event horizon. Lost two chips, one receipt and most of Tuesday.
Took a shortcut through a wormhole and arrived before I had left. I still billed overtime.
Dust is not inevitable. Dust is a declaration of war.
Dust level reached 0.04%. Emergency mopping protocols activated.
Robot underpants discovered in vent shaft. Sanitisation ongoing.
Brian described the floor as clean enough. Brian has been reported.
The trick to surviving space is simple: never trust anything smiling with too many teeth.
Crew evacuated in six seconds. Brian returned for his moustache comb and ruined the average.
Eric Strudelhofen has made breathing paperwork-adjacent. Avoid official buildings.
If the galaxy ends, I would like it recorded that I warned everyone first.
Every galaxy has a key. Unfortunately, mine is slightly out of tune.
My guitar picked up a distress call from a sandwich.
Recorded a song with the engine room. The chorus exploded beautifully.
Misplaced guitar again. Suspect gravity, Brian, or a very ambitious cupboard.
The universe is vast, but good lipstick travels further.
Three planets have requested diplomatic training after Susan winked at their ambassadors.
If someone calls themselves irresistible, check for hidden tentacles and unpaid parking fines.
Brian attempted charm. Medical bay recommends rest and fewer eyebrows.
Nouala is free, provided everyone does exactly what I say before I say it.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
Citizens must salute small sandwiches because greatness often arrives in compact form.
Any suspicious pastry is property of the state until I have finished eating it.
If a crate screams, inventory it quickly and from a distance.
Found one moon, two spoons and a small legal department behind the emergency biscuits.
A box marked Fragile bit the forklift. Forklift expected to recover emotionally.
Parcel 9B walked away. It left a forwarding address and a rude drawing.
The galaxy would be easier to manage if everyone listened to me immediately and without snacks.
Brian means well, which is often how trouble begins.
I have reviewed Gerald’s latest song and declared it almost legal.
Citizens of space, please stop naming moons after lunch items.
