Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
If a MAAM alien says dinner is served, clarify whether you are dinner.
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.
If a crate screams, inventory it quickly and from a distance.
Found one moon, two spoons and a small legal department behind the emergency biscuits.
The cheese has started humming. Gertrude says this is unhygienic.
A box marked Fragile bit the forklift. Forklift expected to recover emotionally.
Royal patience is infinite. Mine, sadly, is not.
I have reviewed Gerald’s latest song and declared it almost legal.
Citizens of space, please stop naming moons after lunch items.
Never accept a crown from a planet that also offers you a receipt.
The universe is vast, but good lipstick travels further.
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.
If someone calls themselves irresistible, check for hidden tentacles and unpaid parking fines.
Order is important. Especially when ordering strudel.
Laughing without a permit is allowed only on alternate Wednesdays.
All spoons must be admired for at least three seconds before use.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
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.
Eric Strudelhofen has made breathing paperwork-adjacent. Avoid official buildings.
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.
Sixteen teacups entered low orbit. Recovery net deployed.
Robot underpants discovered in vent shaft. Sanitisation ongoing.
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.
Never trust a package that looks smug.
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.
Collected vinegar near the event horizon. Lost two chips, one receipt and most of Tuesday.
