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.
Dust level reached 0.04%. Emergency mopping protocols activated.
Sixteen teacups entered low orbit. Recovery net deployed.
Robot underpants discovered in vent shaft. Sanitisation ongoing.
If Brian says it is probably fine, put your helmet on.
Crew evacuated in six seconds. Brian returned for his moustache comb and ruined the average.
If the galaxy ends, I would like it recorded that I warned everyone first.
Cedric opened a crate labelled Definitely Not Dangerous. It was dangerous.
Every galaxy has a key. Unfortunately, mine is slightly out of tune.
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.
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.
Three planets have requested diplomatic training after Susan winked at their ambassadors.
A good cargo officer knows what is in every crate. I have chosen a more mysterious path.
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.
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.
I have reviewed Gerald’s latest song and declared it almost legal.
A regulation a day keeps democracy confused.
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.
Laughing without a permit is allowed only on alternate Wednesdays.
They are friendly, affectionate and catastrophically bitey.
Space Cheese distracts MAAM aliens for exactly nine seconds. Use those seconds wisely.
Brian survived MAAM territory by pretending his moustache was an endangered species.
Do not accept hugs from anything with more than two elbows and a bib.
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.
My moustache was mistaken for a diplomatic flag by a traffic warden moon. Negotiations remain itchy.
Collected vinegar near the event horizon. Lost two chips, one receipt and most of Tuesday.
