Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
If a crate screams, inventory it quickly and from a distance.
Found one moon, two spoons and a small legal department behind the emergency biscuits.
The cheese has started humming. Gertrude says this is unhygienic.
One crate of socks became three crates of suspiciously organised underpants.
Dust is not inevitable. Dust is a declaration of war.
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 kiss can stop a war, start a war, or make Brian walk into a door.
Susan declared the Communications Hub insufficiently romantic and replaced one alarm with smooth jazz.
Brian attempted charm. Medical bay recommends rest and fewer eyebrows.
Never kiss an alien until you know where its mouth officially begins.
Nouala is free, provided everyone does exactly what I say before I say it.
Any suspicious pastry is property of the state until I have finished eating it.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
Citizens must salute small sandwiches because greatness often arrives in compact form.
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.
The MAAM delegation greeted the crew warmly, then tried to season Cedric.
Space Cheese distracts MAAM aliens for exactly nine seconds. Use those seconds wisely.
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.
Recorded a song with the engine room. The chorus exploded beautifully.
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.
Brian means well, which is often how trouble begins.
Citizens of space, please stop naming moons after lunch items.
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.
Took a shortcut through a wormhole and arrived before I had left. I still billed overtime.
Collected vinegar near the event horizon. Lost two chips, one receipt and most of Tuesday.
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.
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.
