"Wait a second, you miserable excuse for an Invader," Gaz growled at Zim as she read over his shoulder. "You can't just end it like that. It's so lame."

"I will end my autobiography however I choose!" Zim yelled indignantly.

"Your 'autobiography'? Give me a break! Those are written in the first person, usually, and you wouldn't be able to know how other people thought or felt! Besides, this whole account is only about thirty percent accurate in the first place!" Gaz shouted back. "Just admit that this is a work of fiction."

This is my life's work and the honest truth, Zim typed after 'The End.'

Gaz's fingers twitched as she resisted the urge to strangle her fiance. "For one thing, wedding invitations inform guests of the intended couple, day, time, place and how to RSVP. They normally only take up a card. This," and she gestured to his computer screen, "is over twenty-nine chapters long and mostly stuff you pulled out of your ass."

"Oh, go soak your head in bleach, you crazy worm baby. This is a joint project, remember? Wich means I do the invitations and you lick the envelopes."

At that, Gaz did strangle him. He managed to free himself from her clutches with some difficulty and pined her against the wall. During their struggle the buttons on Gaz's shirt had given way and the shirt just barely hid her skin from view. Zim's eyes traveled down the length of her neck to rest at the parting of her shirt. He grinned mischievously, the struggle forgotten.

"I should have edited it to say 'I'll do anything to you," he whispered before kissing her neck. She sighed as her head fell back and held her left hand up to the light.

A gorgeous balck titanium ring with a tension set violet sapphire sparkled on her ring finger. Irken symbols were etched into the band and filled in with purple enamel.

"At least I got my ring." She laughed as he tugged her to the ground. "How about I do the invitations and you make reservations for the reception?" she suggested.

"Anything. Just shut up and kiss me," Zim howled impatiently as his hands trailed up and down her sides.

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?: she replied and complied.

The End

(for real)