Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
The cargo bay is not haunted. It is administratively unsettled.
A box marked Fragile bit the forklift. Forklift expected to recover emotionally.
One crate of socks became three crates of suspiciously organised underpants.
The cheese has started humming. Gertrude says this is unhygienic.
I do not chase dirt. Dirt flees me.
Robot underpants discovered in vent shaft. Sanitisation ongoing.
Sixteen teacups entered low orbit. Recovery net deployed.
Brian described the floor as clean enough. Brian has been reported.
A guitar solo can solve many problems. Not legal problems, but many problems.
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 regulation a day keeps democracy confused.
Citizens must salute small sandwiches because greatness often arrives in compact form.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
Any suspicious pastry is property of the state until I have finished eating it.
Royal patience is infinite. Mine, sadly, is not.
Eric Strudelhofen attempted to bow to himself in a mirror. Talks remain difficult.
Brian means well, which is often how trouble begins.
Never accept a crown from a planet that also offers you a receipt.
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.
If the galaxy ends, I would like it recorded that I warned everyone first.
MAAM hospitality includes tea, biscuits and a legally worrying number of teeth.
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.
Romance in space requires confidence, oxygen and a reliable escape pod.
Three planets have requested diplomatic training after Susan winked at their ambassadors.
If someone calls themselves irresistible, check for hidden tentacles and unpaid parking fines.
Never kiss an alien until you know where its mouth officially begins.
Never trust a package that looks smug.
My moustache was mistaken for a diplomatic flag by a traffic warden moon. Negotiations remain itchy.
Delivered three crates of Space Cheese to Nouala. Eric immediately declared cheese a taxable emotion.
Collected vinegar near the event horizon. Lost two chips, one receipt and most of Tuesday.
