PART 1 of the 2010 Alien Cross-Blogsperience Xtravaganza

Picture by Bryan F.

On Sunday, August 29, 2010, two "great" minds joined brain forces for what I like to call a "cross-blogsperience." The above picture was done by B.E. Fernando, and we collaborated on a single story based on it (PART 2 TOMORROW BET U CAN'T WAIT!).
We also each wrote our own stories to go with the picture. For his story, go to his blog, which you should be reading anyway, jerk. Here is mine today:

PART 1 OF 2 SEPARATE STORIES

Alien couples have sad lives too
by K.L. Ingram

"What're you all dressed up for," he asked, barely looking away from the space TV.
His wife stood in the doorway to their bedroom, her slimy hands resting impatiently on her top two hips.
"When was the last time we went out?"
"What? Space’s Greatest Boner Videos is on, hon, would you keep it down.”
"I WILL NOT! WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME—get some of your hands out of your pants when I'm talking to you! When was the last time we went out, I said. Put down the goddamn remote and look at me."
He placed the remote on the arm of his Space-E-Boy and flicked his empty, pure black gaze to his wife's jagged figure. Both were suddenly and mutually overwhelmed by the nothing they felt with their eyes fixed on one another.
Neither of them was the same. They were bitter, angry, listless. Even in her finest red dress she was not the vibrant young carnivorous monster that he had devoured naked pink space apes with in the Battle of X-19-7-4098. And he knew he wasn't the same either; he no longer had the intense, ever-burning desire to fertilize her ova that he had as a younger alien, and where his hard lactic acid-filled sacs once made him an imposing, hale creature, they now hung limp with adipose tissue, his taut green flesh sallow and wilted.
They both thought often, as they did in that instant, of the occasion in which they copulated for 82 straight Andromedean days. Their excited, passionate, love-filled clicks and ululations had rung out emptily in the intimate airless void around them as their bony, grinding bodies wetly and hideously became one. Now their time together was filled with sullen silence, avoided touches, and nonenergetic feasting upon the ordered-out bones of their enemies (the preparation and consumption of which was once a joyous and often romantic event).
That brief moment of sad realization of the yawning, farcical futility of their life passed when he cleared his throats, a shrieking grinding of his esophageal bones that shattered the silence.
“Let’s go to Chile’s,” he said.
She knew it was the best they would both get, so she nodded and fetched her space purse.