Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
A successful delivery is one where nobody sues the moustache.
Delivered three crates of Space Cheese to Nouala. Eric immediately declared cheese a taxable emotion.
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.
The cargo bay is not haunted. It is administratively unsettled.
Parcel 9B walked away. It left a forwarding address and a rude drawing.
A box marked Fragile bit the forklift. Forklift expected to recover emotionally.
Found one moon, two spoons and a small legal department behind the emergency biscuits.
A queen of the cosmos must remain calm, radiant and extremely suspicious.
Never accept a crown from a planet that also offers you a receipt.
Eric Strudelhofen attempted to bow to himself in a mirror. Talks remain difficult.
Citizens of space, please stop naming moons after lunch items.
A guitar solo can solve many problems. Not legal problems, but many problems.
Misplaced guitar again. Suspect gravity, Brian, or a very ambitious cupboard.
My guitar picked up a distress call from a sandwich.
Invented a new genre called panic funk. Karen says it already existed whenever I enter a room.
A regulation a day keeps democracy confused.
Any suspicious pastry is property of the state until I have finished eating it.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
Laughing without a permit is allowed only on alternate Wednesdays.
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.
Never kiss an alien until you know where its mouth officially begins.
Brian attempted charm. Medical bay recommends rest and fewer eyebrows.
I do not chase dirt. Dirt flees me.
Dust level reached 0.04%. Emergency mopping protocols activated.
Sixteen teacups entered low orbit. Recovery net deployed.
Robot underpants discovered in vent shaft. Sanitisation ongoing.
The trick to surviving space is simple: never trust anything smiling with too many teeth.
Cedric opened a crate labelled Definitely Not Dangerous. It was dangerous.
Eric Strudelhofen has made breathing paperwork-adjacent. Avoid official buildings.
If the galaxy ends, I would like it recorded that I warned everyone first.
They are friendly, affectionate and catastrophically bitey.
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.
Karen has negotiated a treaty based on snacks, distance and shouting.
