Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
MAAM hospitality includes tea, biscuits and a legally worrying number of teeth.
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.
Brian survived MAAM territory by pretending his moustache was an endangered species.
A regulation a day keeps democracy confused.
Citizens must salute small sandwiches because greatness often arrives in compact form.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
All spoons must be admired for at least three seconds before use.
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.
One crate of socks became three crates of suspiciously organised underpants.
Found one moon, two spoons and a small legal department behind the emergency biscuits.
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.
Parcel asked to speak to my manager. I promoted Cedric temporarily and hid behind the cargo bay.
Delivered three crates of Space Cheese to Nouala. Eric immediately declared cheese a taxable emotion.
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.
Never kiss an alien until you know where its mouth officially begins.
Brian attempted charm. Medical bay recommends rest and fewer eyebrows.
Royal patience is infinite. Mine, sadly, is not.
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.
Citizens of space, please stop naming moons after lunch items.
Every galaxy has a key. Unfortunately, mine is slightly out of tune.
My guitar picked up a distress call from a sandwich.
Recorded a song with the engine room. The chorus exploded beautifully.
Played one chord so powerful the Communications Hub asked for a lie down.
Cleanliness is next to survivability.
Sixteen teacups entered low orbit. Recovery net deployed.
Robot underpants discovered in vent shaft. Sanitisation ongoing.
Brian described the floor as clean enough. Brian has been reported.
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.
Eric Strudelhofen has made breathing paperwork-adjacent. Avoid official buildings.
Gerald tried to tune his guitar using the engine. The engine now plays jazz.
