Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
Dust is not inevitable. Dust is a declaration of war.
Robot underpants discovered in vent shaft. Sanitisation ongoing.
Brian described the floor as clean enough. Brian has been reported.
Dust level reached 0.04%. Emergency mopping protocols activated.
The universe is vast, but good lipstick travels further.
Three planets have requested diplomatic training after Susan winked at their ambassadors.
Brian attempted charm. Medical bay recommends rest and fewer eyebrows.
If someone calls themselves irresistible, check for hidden tentacles and unpaid parking fines.
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.
If the galaxy ends, I would like it recorded that I warned everyone first.
Eric Strudelhofen has made breathing paperwork-adjacent. Avoid official buildings.
A queen of the cosmos must remain calm, radiant and extremely suspicious.
I have reviewed Gerald’s latest song and declared it almost legal.
Never accept a crown from a planet that also offers you a receipt.
Brian means well, which is often how trouble begins.
A regulation a day keeps democracy confused.
All spoons must be admired for at least three seconds before use.
Any suspicious pastry is property of the state until I have finished eating it.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
If a MAAM alien says dinner is served, clarify whether you are dinner.
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.
The cargo bay is not haunted. It is administratively unsettled.
The cheese has started humming. Gertrude says this is unhygienic.
Parcel 9B walked away. It left a forwarding address and a rude drawing.
A box marked Fragile bit the forklift. Forklift expected to recover emotionally.
Music is the language of the universe, except on Tuesday when it is mostly feedback.
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.
Recorded a song with the engine room. The chorus exploded beautifully.
Never trust a package that looks smug.
Took a shortcut through a wormhole and arrived before I had left. I still billed overtime.
Delivered three crates of Space Cheese to Nouala. Eric immediately declared cheese a taxable emotion.
Parcel asked to speak to my manager. I promoted Cedric temporarily and hid behind the cargo bay.
