PART 2 of the 2010 Alien Cro22-Blog2perience Xtravagan2a: The Bloggening

Picture by Bryan F.
Made spacier by me

This short story tale is the collaboration between me and Bryan, a very talented and spicy young man who will one day clean the president's teeth with a hot glue spider, or something. Part 1 was our individual stories (HERE'S RAYBAN'S!!!) which showcased our own perverse and various talents, and today you see what happens when we share a Google Doc and write together (SPOILER ALERT: it's MAGICK!).

PART 2 OF 2 SEPARATE STORIES
UNTITLED ALIEN PROSTITUTE TALE: IN WHICH THE GOSLINGS ASK FOR PIZZA
by B. Erik Fernandez & K.L. Ingram

Maleien was sitting in his pimp chair when his ho Ganxaxa sashayed through his door.
"BITCH," he boomed. "Where my money. If you don’t got my money I’m gon cut you!"
She quivered in her pearls. "Naw, naw, Maleien, you got me wrong! You know I'm good for it! I just got so many goslings at home, sometimes it's hard to keep up with everything!"
"I don't CARE if you good for it, I want the money now! You bring me 25,000 floopdedoops by TOMORROW or I'ma salt you and turn you into jerky, naw what I mean?"
"I will, I will! You'll see! I'll turn extra tricks, open a jerky shop, or something!" she cried, running out of the door.
She ran, viscous black fluid leaking out of her eyes, into the elevator up to her apartment where her goslings were waiting.
"BABIES!" she said, her voice shaking through the tears.
"MAMA WHAT’S WRONG" said all the goslings in unison. (Goslings are a hive mind until they reach level 24 drekels.)
"I got bad news for you. Mama's not going to be around much for awhile."
Her goslings sat staring at her.
“PIZZA, CHARLIE!” shouted the goslings in unison, which sort of creeped Ganxaxa out. Who was Charlie?
“PIZZA, CHARLIE!” they shouted again. Ganxaxa glanced around nervously.
But before Ganxaxa could figure it out, everything exploded. Stuff was still there when she opened her eyes but it was slightly different. It was strange--she couldn't quite explain it. Everything felt a little more green and her name was probably Charlie now.
"Am I Charlie?" asked Charlie.
The goslings' thoraxes were expanding and contracting at a nauseating speed.
"PIZZA, CHARLIE" they shouted again.
The goslings' strange dance was speeding up. She vomited up a thick roll of pizza dough. She could hear their exoskeletons crunching with each contraction. Charlie vomited again in fear.
This time it was a thick, red tomato based sauce pouring out of her face.
The goslings began to drone and buzz in unison, shaking her stomach like the great belly of a farnok being tickled by a raguna feather. At once the goslings became a fiery red, similar to lava, or maybe magma, and melded together like when you're heating up chocolate chips and then they melt into a puddle, but this puddle was solid and big as a Korlernt. She vomited one last time for what seemed forever. Mountains and mountains of mozzarella cheese and assorted fixins came rocketing out of her facehole straight into the puddle.
A giant hole opened in the puddle and it ingested everything Ganxaxa had puked up. Or was it Charlie now? She wasn't sure. All she was sure of was that she was scared and shivering and owed her pimp some cash.
So Charlie hotfooted it down to the nearest jerky store and robbed it at gunpoint. She returned the money to Maleien. They were wed the next day and had a very unhappy life together.

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.