Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
Every galaxy has a key. Unfortunately, mine is slightly out of tune.
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.
Recorded a song with the engine room. The chorus exploded beautifully.
If a crate screams, inventory it quickly and from a distance.
The cheese has started humming. Gertrude says this is unhygienic.
Parcel 9B walked away. It left a forwarding address and a rude drawing.
One crate of socks became three crates of suspiciously organised underpants.
If the parcel is ticking, humming or politely asking for legal representation, do not sign for it.
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.
Took a shortcut through a wormhole and arrived before I had left. I still billed overtime.
If a MAAM alien says dinner is served, clarify whether you are dinner.
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.
Space Cheese distracts MAAM aliens for exactly nine seconds. Use those seconds wisely.
Cleanliness is next to survivability.
Space Cheese residue resisted standard mop. Upgraded to heroic mop.
Dust level reached 0.04%. Emergency mopping protocols activated.
Brian described the floor as clean enough. Brian has been reported.
A regulation a day keeps democracy confused.
All spoons must be admired for at least three seconds before use.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
Citizens must salute small sandwiches because greatness often arrives in compact form.
The galaxy would be easier to manage if everyone listened to me immediately and without snacks.
Brian means well, which is often how trouble begins.
Citizens of space, please stop naming moons after lunch items.
I have reviewed Gerald’s latest song and declared it almost legal.
The trick to surviving space is simple: never trust anything smiling with too many teeth.
Gerald tried to tune his guitar using the engine. The engine now plays jazz.
Cedric opened a crate labelled Definitely Not Dangerous. It was dangerous.
Crew evacuated in six seconds. Brian returned for his moustache comb and ruined the average.
A kiss can stop a war, start a war, or make Brian walk into a door.
Three planets have requested diplomatic training after Susan winked at their ambassadors.
Susan declared the Communications Hub insufficiently romantic and replaced one alarm with smooth jazz.
Brian attempted charm. Medical bay recommends rest and fewer eyebrows.
