Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
A kiss can stop a war, start a war, or make Brian walk into a door.
If someone calls themselves irresistible, check for hidden tentacles and unpaid parking fines.
Three planets have requested diplomatic training after Susan winked at their ambassadors.
Never kiss an alien until you know where its mouth officially begins.
A good cargo officer knows what is in every crate. I have chosen a more mysterious path.
Parcel 9B walked away. It left a forwarding address and a rude drawing.
One crate of socks became three crates of suspiciously organised underpants.
Found one moon, two spoons and a small legal department behind the emergency biscuits.
Every galaxy has a key. Unfortunately, mine is slightly out of tune.
Misplaced guitar again. Suspect gravity, Brian, or a very ambitious cupboard.
Played one chord so powerful the Communications Hub asked for a lie down.
Invented a new genre called panic funk. Karen says it already existed whenever I enter a room.
A queen of the cosmos must remain calm, radiant and extremely suspicious.
Eric Strudelhofen attempted to bow to himself in a mirror. Talks remain difficult.
Citizens of space, please stop naming moons after lunch items.
I have reviewed Gerald’s latest song and declared it almost legal.
A regulation a day keeps democracy confused.
Laughing without a permit is allowed only on alternate Wednesdays.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
Citizens must salute small sandwiches because greatness often arrives in compact form.
I have survived three alien invasions and one of Gerald’s rehearsals. I fear nothing except paperwork.
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.
Gerald tried to tune his guitar using the engine. The engine now plays jazz.
Cleanliness is next to survivability.
Sixteen teacups entered low orbit. Recovery net deployed.
Dust level reached 0.04%. Emergency mopping protocols activated.
Space Cheese residue resisted standard mop. Upgraded to heroic mop.
Never trust a package that looks smug.
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.
If a MAAM alien says dinner is served, clarify whether you are dinner.
Do not accept hugs from anything with more than two elbows and a bib.
Karen has negotiated a treaty based on snacks, distance and shouting.
Brian survived MAAM territory by pretending his moustache was an endangered species.
