Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
A good cargo officer knows what is in every crate. I have chosen a more mysterious path.
Found one moon, two spoons and a small legal department behind the emergency biscuits.
One crate of socks became three crates of suspiciously organised underpants.
A box marked Fragile bit the forklift. Forklift expected to recover emotionally.
I do not chase dirt. Dirt flees me.
Sixteen teacups entered low orbit. Recovery net deployed.
Space Cheese residue resisted standard mop. Upgraded to heroic mop.
Dust level reached 0.04%. Emergency mopping protocols activated.
The trick to surviving space is simple: never trust anything smiling with too many teeth.
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.
Gerald tried to tune his guitar using the engine. The engine now plays jazz.
Every galaxy has a key. Unfortunately, mine is slightly out of tune.
My guitar picked up a distress call from a sandwich.
Misplaced guitar again. Suspect gravity, Brian, or a very ambitious cupboard.
Played one chord so powerful the Communications Hub asked for a lie down.
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.
Three planets have requested diplomatic training after Susan winked at their ambassadors.
Susan declared the Communications Hub insufficiently romantic and replaced one alarm with smooth jazz.
They are friendly, affectionate and catastrophically bitey.
The MAAM delegation greeted the crew warmly, then tried to season Cedric.
Karen has negotiated a treaty based on snacks, distance and shouting.
Brian survived MAAM territory by pretending his moustache was an endangered species.
A regulation a day keeps democracy confused.
Any suspicious pastry is property of the state until I have finished eating it.
All spoons must be admired for at least three seconds before use.
Laughing without a permit is allowed only on alternate Wednesdays.
A successful delivery is one where nobody sues the moustache.
My moustache was mistaken for a diplomatic flag by a traffic warden moon. Negotiations remain itchy.
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.
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.
Eric Strudelhofen attempted to bow to himself in a mirror. Talks remain difficult.
I have reviewed Gerald’s latest song and declared it almost legal.
