Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
Never trust a package that looks smug.
Parcel asked to speak to my manager. I promoted Cedric temporarily and hid behind the cargo bay.
Collected vinegar near the event horizon. Lost two chips, one receipt and most of Tuesday.
My moustache was mistaken for a diplomatic flag by a traffic warden moon. Negotiations remain itchy.
MAAM hospitality includes tea, biscuits and a legally worrying number of teeth.
The MAAM delegation greeted the crew warmly, then tried to season Cedric.
Karen has negotiated a treaty based on snacks, distance and shouting.
Do not accept hugs from anything with more than two elbows and a bib.
The trick to surviving space is simple: never trust anything smiling with too many teeth.
If the galaxy ends, I would like it recorded that I warned everyone first.
Gerald tried to tune his guitar using the engine. The engine now plays jazz.
Crew evacuated in six seconds. Brian returned for his moustache comb and ruined the average.
If a crate screams, inventory it quickly and from a distance.
Parcel 9B walked away. It left a forwarding address and a rude drawing.
The cheese has started humming. Gertrude says this is unhygienic.
One crate of socks became three crates of suspiciously organised underpants.
Order is important. Especially when ordering strudel.
Laughing without a permit is allowed only on alternate Wednesdays.
Any suspicious pastry is property of the state until I have finished eating it.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
Every galaxy has a key. Unfortunately, mine is slightly out of tune.
Played one chord so powerful the Communications Hub asked for a lie down.
Misplaced guitar again. Suspect gravity, Brian, or a very ambitious cupboard.
My guitar picked up a distress call from a sandwich.
The universe is vast, but good lipstick travels further.
Three planets have requested diplomatic training after Susan winked at their ambassadors.
Never kiss an alien until you know where its mouth officially begins.
Susan declared the Communications Hub insufficiently romantic and replaced one alarm with smooth jazz.
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.
Eric Strudelhofen attempted to bow to himself in a mirror. Talks remain difficult.
I have reviewed Gerald’s latest song and declared it almost legal.
Dust is not inevitable. Dust is a declaration of war.
Robot underpants discovered in vent shaft. Sanitisation ongoing.
Sixteen teacups entered low orbit. Recovery net deployed.
Dust level reached 0.04%. Emergency mopping protocols activated.
