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.
Recorded a song with the engine room. The chorus exploded beautifully.
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 good cargo officer knows what is in every crate. I have chosen a more mysterious path.
The cheese has started humming. Gertrude says this is unhygienic.
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.
Nouala is free, provided everyone does exactly what I say before I say it.
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.
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.
Citizens of space, please stop naming moons after lunch items.
Eric Strudelhofen attempted to bow to himself in a mirror. Talks remain difficult.
A kiss can stop a war, start a war, or make Brian walk into a door.
Never kiss an alien until you know where its mouth officially begins.
If someone calls themselves irresistible, check for hidden tentacles and unpaid parking fines.
Brian attempted charm. Medical bay recommends rest and fewer eyebrows.
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.
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.
I have survived three alien invasions and one of Gerald’s rehearsals. I fear nothing except paperwork.
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.
Cedric opened a crate labelled Definitely Not Dangerous. It was dangerous.
Dust is not inevitable. Dust is a declaration of war.
Brian described the floor as clean enough. Brian has been reported.
Robot underpants discovered in vent shaft. Sanitisation ongoing.
Dust level reached 0.04%. Emergency mopping protocols activated.
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.
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.
