Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
The trick to surviving space is simple: never trust anything smiling with too many teeth.
Eric Strudelhofen has made breathing paperwork-adjacent. Avoid official buildings.
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.
Nouala is free, provided everyone does exactly what I say before I say it.
Any suspicious pastry is property of the state until I have finished eating it.
All spoons must be admired for at least three seconds before use.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
They are friendly, affectionate and catastrophically bitey.
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.
Space Cheese distracts MAAM aliens for exactly nine seconds. Use those seconds wisely.
The cargo bay is not haunted. It is administratively unsettled.
One crate of socks became three crates of suspiciously organised underpants.
Found one moon, two spoons and a small legal department behind the emergency biscuits.
Parcel 9B walked away. It left a forwarding address and a rude drawing.
Music is the language of the universe, except on Tuesday when it is mostly feedback.
My guitar picked up a distress call from a sandwich.
Played one chord so powerful the Communications Hub asked for a lie down.
Invented a new genre called panic funk. Karen says it already existed whenever I enter a room.
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.
Three planets have requested diplomatic training after Susan winked at their ambassadors.
Brian attempted charm. Medical bay recommends rest and fewer eyebrows.
Cleanliness is next to survivability.
Space Cheese residue resisted standard mop. Upgraded to heroic mop.
Sixteen teacups entered low orbit. Recovery net deployed.
Brian described the floor as clean enough. Brian has been reported.
If the parcel is ticking, humming or politely asking for legal representation, do not sign for it.
My moustache was mistaken for a diplomatic flag by a traffic warden moon. Negotiations remain itchy.
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.
A queen of the cosmos must remain calm, radiant and extremely suspicious.
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.
