Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
Cleanliness is next to survivability.
Robot underpants discovered in vent shaft. Sanitisation ongoing.
Space Cheese residue resisted standard mop. Upgraded to heroic mop.
Brian described the floor as clean enough. Brian has been reported.
Every galaxy has a key. Unfortunately, mine is slightly out of tune.
Invented a new genre called panic funk. Karen says it already existed whenever I enter a room.
Played one chord so powerful the Communications Hub asked for a lie down.
My guitar picked up a distress call from a sandwich.
I have survived three alien invasions and one of Gerald’s rehearsals. I fear nothing except paperwork.
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.
Cedric opened a crate labelled Definitely Not Dangerous. It was dangerous.
They are friendly, affectionate and catastrophically bitey.
Space Cheese distracts MAAM aliens for exactly nine seconds. Use those seconds wisely.
Karen has negotiated a treaty based on snacks, distance and shouting.
Brian survived MAAM territory by pretending his moustache was an endangered species.
A queen of the cosmos must remain calm, radiant and extremely suspicious.
I have reviewed Gerald’s latest song and declared it almost legal.
Citizens of space, please stop naming moons after lunch items.
Eric Strudelhofen attempted to bow to himself in a mirror. Talks remain difficult.
If the parcel is ticking, humming or politely asking for legal representation, do not sign for it.
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.
Delivered three crates of Space Cheese to Nouala. Eric immediately declared cheese a taxable emotion.
A kiss can stop a war, start a war, or make Brian walk into a door.
Susan declared the Communications Hub insufficiently romantic and replaced one alarm with smooth jazz.
Never kiss an alien until you know where its mouth officially begins.
Brian attempted charm. Medical bay recommends rest and fewer eyebrows.
A regulation a day keeps democracy confused.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
Citizens must salute small sandwiches because greatness often arrives in compact form.
All spoons must be admired for at least three seconds before use.
The cargo bay is not haunted. It is administratively unsettled.
A box marked Fragile bit the forklift. Forklift expected to recover emotionally.
Found one moon, two spoons and a small legal department behind the emergency biscuits.
The cheese has started humming. Gertrude says this is unhygienic.
