Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
The cargo bay is not haunted. It is administratively unsettled.
Found one moon, two spoons and a small legal department behind the emergency biscuits.
One crate of socks became three crates of suspiciously organised underpants.
A box marked Fragile bit the forklift. Forklift expected to recover emotionally.
They are friendly, affectionate and catastrophically bitey.
The MAAM delegation greeted the crew warmly, then tried to season Cedric.
Space Cheese distracts MAAM aliens for exactly nine seconds. Use those seconds wisely.
Karen has negotiated a treaty based on snacks, distance and shouting.
Music is the language of the universe, except on Tuesday when it is mostly feedback.
Recorded a song with the engine room. The chorus exploded beautifully.
Invented a new genre called panic funk. Karen says it already existed whenever I enter a room.
My guitar picked up a distress call from a sandwich.
A successful delivery is one where nobody sues the moustache.
Delivered three crates of Space Cheese to Nouala. Eric immediately declared cheese a taxable emotion.
Took a shortcut through a wormhole and arrived before I had left. I still billed overtime.
Collected vinegar near the event horizon. Lost two chips, one receipt and most of Tuesday.
I do not chase dirt. Dirt flees me.
Sixteen teacups entered low orbit. Recovery net deployed.
Robot underpants discovered in vent shaft. Sanitisation ongoing.
Space Cheese residue resisted standard mop. Upgraded to heroic mop.
Order is important. Especially when ordering strudel.
Any suspicious pastry is property of the state until I have finished eating it.
Citizens must salute small sandwiches because greatness often arrives in compact form.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
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.
Brian means well, which is often how trouble begins.
Romance in space requires confidence, oxygen and a reliable escape pod.
Susan declared the Communications Hub insufficiently romantic and replaced one alarm with smooth jazz.
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.
If Brian says it is probably fine, put your helmet on.
Gerald tried to tune his guitar using the engine. The engine now plays jazz.
If the galaxy ends, I would like it recorded that I warned everyone first.
Eric Strudelhofen has made breathing paperwork-adjacent. Avoid official buildings.
