Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
If a MAAM alien says dinner is served, clarify whether you are dinner.
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.
Never trust a package that looks smug.
Collected vinegar near the event horizon. Lost two chips, one receipt and most of Tuesday.
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.
The galaxy would be easier to manage if everyone listened to me immediately and without snacks.
I have reviewed Gerald’s latest song and declared it almost legal.
Eric Strudelhofen attempted to bow to himself in a mirror. Talks remain difficult.
Brian means well, which is often how trouble begins.
Order is important. Especially when ordering strudel.
Citizens must salute small sandwiches because greatness often arrives in compact form.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
Laughing without a permit is allowed only on alternate Wednesdays.
A good cargo officer knows what is in every crate. I have chosen a more mysterious path.
A box marked Fragile bit the forklift. Forklift expected to recover emotionally.
One crate of socks became three crates of suspiciously organised underpants.
Parcel 9B walked away. It left a forwarding address and a rude drawing.
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.
Crew evacuated in six seconds. Brian returned for his moustache comb and ruined the average.
Gerald tried to tune his guitar using the engine. The engine now plays jazz.
Romance in space requires confidence, oxygen and a reliable escape pod.
Never kiss an alien until you know where its mouth officially begins.
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.
Cleanliness is next to survivability.
Brian described the floor as clean enough. Brian has been reported.
Robot underpants discovered in vent shaft. Sanitisation ongoing.
Sixteen teacups entered low orbit. Recovery net deployed.
A guitar solo can solve many problems. Not legal problems, but many problems.
Invented a new genre called panic funk. Karen says it already existed whenever I enter a room.
Played one chord so powerful the Communications Hub asked for a lie down.
Recorded a song with the engine room. The chorus exploded beautifully.
