Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
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.
Dust level reached 0.04%. Emergency mopping protocols activated.
Nouala is free, provided everyone does exactly what I say before I say it.
Laughing without a permit is allowed only on alternate Wednesdays.
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.
The galaxy would be easier to manage if everyone listened to me immediately and without snacks.
Eric Strudelhofen attempted to bow to himself in a mirror. Talks remain difficult.
Never accept a crown from a planet that also offers you a receipt.
I have reviewed Gerald’s latest song and declared it almost legal.
Romance in space requires confidence, oxygen and a reliable escape pod.
Brian attempted charm. Medical bay recommends rest and fewer eyebrows.
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.
If a MAAM alien says dinner is served, clarify whether you are dinner.
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 MAAM delegation greeted the crew warmly, then tried to season Cedric.
Music is the language of the universe, except on Tuesday when it is mostly feedback.
Misplaced guitar again. Suspect gravity, Brian, or a very ambitious cupboard.
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.
Never trust a package that looks smug.
Took a shortcut through a wormhole and arrived before I had left. I still billed overtime.
Delivered three crates of Space Cheese to Nouala. Eric immediately declared cheese a taxable emotion.
Parcel asked to speak to my manager. I promoted Cedric temporarily and hid behind the cargo bay.
If a crate screams, inventory it quickly and from a distance.
The cheese has started humming. Gertrude says this is unhygienic.
A box marked Fragile bit the forklift. Forklift expected to recover emotionally.
One crate of socks became three crates of suspiciously organised underpants.
The trick to surviving space is simple: never trust anything smiling with too many teeth.
If the galaxy ends, I would like it recorded that I warned everyone first.
Eric Strudelhofen has made breathing paperwork-adjacent. Avoid official buildings.
Cedric opened a crate labelled Definitely Not Dangerous. It was dangerous.
