Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
A good cargo officer knows what is in every crate. I have chosen a more mysterious path.
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.
The cheese has started humming. Gertrude says this is unhygienic.
Romance in space requires confidence, oxygen and a reliable escape pod.
If someone calls themselves irresistible, check for hidden tentacles and unpaid parking fines.
Never kiss an alien until you know where its mouth officially begins.
Brian attempted charm. Medical bay recommends rest and fewer eyebrows.
Dust is not inevitable. Dust is a declaration of war.
Brian described the floor as clean enough. Brian has been reported.
Robot underpants discovered in vent shaft. Sanitisation ongoing.
Sixteen teacups entered low orbit. Recovery net deployed.
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.
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.
MAAM hospitality includes tea, biscuits and a legally worrying number of teeth.
Karen has negotiated a treaty based on snacks, distance and shouting.
Space Cheese distracts MAAM aliens for exactly nine seconds. Use those seconds wisely.
Do not accept hugs from anything with more than two elbows and a bib.
Never trust a package that looks smug.
Delivered three crates of Space Cheese to Nouala. Eric immediately declared cheese a taxable emotion.
My moustache was mistaken for a diplomatic flag by a traffic warden moon. Negotiations remain itchy.
Took a shortcut through a wormhole and arrived before I had left. I still billed overtime.
Nouala is free, provided everyone does exactly what I say before I say it.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
Citizens must salute small sandwiches because greatness often arrives in compact form.
Laughing without a permit is allowed only on alternate Wednesdays.
Every galaxy has a key. Unfortunately, mine is slightly out of tune.
Misplaced guitar again. Suspect gravity, Brian, or a very ambitious cupboard.
Recorded a song with the engine room. The chorus exploded beautifully.
Played one chord so powerful the Communications Hub asked for a lie down.
Royal patience is infinite. Mine, sadly, is not.
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.
Citizens of space, please stop naming moons after lunch items.
