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.
Dust level reached 0.04%. Emergency mopping protocols activated.
Space Cheese residue resisted standard mop. Upgraded to heroic mop.
Nouala is free, provided everyone does exactly what I say before I say it.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
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.
Romance in space requires confidence, oxygen and a reliable escape pod.
If someone calls themselves irresistible, check for hidden tentacles and unpaid parking fines.
Susan declared the Communications Hub insufficiently romantic and replaced one alarm with smooth jazz.
Brian attempted charm. Medical bay recommends rest and fewer eyebrows.
A guitar solo can solve many problems. Not legal problems, but many problems.
My guitar picked up a distress call from a sandwich.
Invented a new genre called panic funk. Karen says it already existed whenever I enter a room.
Misplaced guitar again. Suspect gravity, Brian, or a very ambitious cupboard.
A queen of the cosmos must remain calm, radiant and extremely suspicious.
Brian means well, which is often how trouble begins.
Eric Strudelhofen attempted to bow to himself in a mirror. Talks remain difficult.
Citizens of space, please stop naming moons after lunch items.
They are friendly, affectionate and catastrophically bitey.
Karen has negotiated a treaty based on snacks, distance and shouting.
The MAAM delegation greeted the crew warmly, then tried to season Cedric.
Do not accept hugs from anything with more than two elbows and a bib.
I have survived three alien invasions and one of Gerald’s rehearsals. I fear nothing except paperwork.
Eric Strudelhofen has made breathing paperwork-adjacent. Avoid official buildings.
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.
The cargo bay is not haunted. It is administratively unsettled.
Parcel 9B walked away. It left a forwarding address and a rude drawing.
Found one moon, two spoons and a small legal department behind the emergency biscuits.
The cheese has started humming. Gertrude says this is unhygienic.
Never trust a package that looks smug.
Parcel asked to speak to my manager. I promoted Cedric temporarily and hid behind the cargo bay.
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.
