Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
They are friendly, affectionate and catastrophically bitey.
Karen has negotiated a treaty based on snacks, distance and shouting.
Space Cheese distracts MAAM aliens for exactly nine seconds. Use those seconds wisely.
Do not accept hugs from anything with more than two elbows and a bib.
Cleanliness is next to survivability.
Sixteen teacups entered low orbit. Recovery net deployed.
Space Cheese residue resisted standard mop. Upgraded to heroic mop.
Brian described the floor as clean enough. Brian has been reported.
The galaxy would be easier to manage if everyone listened to me immediately and without snacks.
Citizens of space, please stop naming moons after lunch items.
I have reviewed Gerald’s latest song and declared it almost legal.
Brian means well, which is often how trouble begins.
A successful delivery is one where nobody sues the moustache.
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.
Parcel asked to speak to my manager. I promoted Cedric temporarily and hid behind the cargo bay.
A regulation a day keeps democracy confused.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
Citizens must salute small sandwiches because greatness often arrives in compact form.
Any suspicious pastry is property of the state until I have finished eating it.
A guitar solo can solve many problems. Not legal problems, but many problems.
Misplaced guitar again. Suspect gravity, Brian, or a very ambitious cupboard.
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.
The cargo bay is not haunted. It is administratively unsettled.
Parcel 9B walked away. It left a forwarding address and a rude drawing.
Found one moon, two spoons and a small legal department behind the emergency biscuits.
A box marked Fragile bit the forklift. Forklift expected to recover emotionally.
Romance in space requires confidence, oxygen and a reliable escape pod.
Susan declared the Communications Hub insufficiently romantic and replaced one alarm with smooth jazz.
Brian attempted charm. Medical bay recommends rest and fewer eyebrows.
Three planets have requested diplomatic training after Susan winked at their ambassadors.
If Brian says it is probably fine, put your helmet on.
If the galaxy ends, I would like it recorded that I warned everyone first.
Eric Strudelhofen has made breathing paperwork-adjacent. Avoid official buildings.
Cedric opened a crate labelled Definitely Not Dangerous. It was dangerous.
