Fat likes to throw in little bits of alien flavor to prove that he's a really real sci-fi author, but he lacks the intelligence to do so in a coherent manner. Take, for instance, the (already done by a superior IP) instance of eating live beetles for dinner. Fat has them running around the plate and almost escaping, but then the character later totally forgets about his bowl. And the beetles just don't exist anymore, because if they did, then they'd be running around the apartment and that would be a problem.
Also, take the issue from the previous chapter about the alien shitting all over bystanders because it needed to relieve its bowels to fly. If that were a real thing, then there would be some sort of system in place to facilitate the alien's need to relieve itself without contaminating the station with biohazardous waste.
And, to go more in depth with a concrete example, let's look at the (re)introduction of the lead male character.
Reclining in a lawn chair turned away from her, an alien in a bathrobe sat looking at a handheld while drinking from what looked like a short martini glass.
Fat tells us we can't see the front of the alien (the lawn chair is turned away from us), but then immediately goes on to say what the front of the alien is doing (drinking, wearing a bathrobe, and looking at something). Fat wants to have a big reveal when he describes the alien's physiology. He spends several paragraphs after the above quoted line having the two characters talk, and then throws out the shocking description. The first time I read through it was jarring because I wanted to know why First hadn't reacted to the alien's appearance as soon as she saw it. I had to go back and re-read that first paragraph to catch that the lawnchair was turned away. By describing things the audience shouldn't have been able to see, Fat gave the impression that we could see them and made the whole scene unnecessarily confusing. I hate him.
So, what does this alien look like?
The alien was roughly humanoid in body layout--torso, two backward-bending legs, two big and two little arms, a head, and a plump, stubby tail that looked better suited to storing fat than correcting balance. After that, things got weird. They didn't have any skin, for one thing, and the various exposed pieces seemed to be held together by nothing more than collective agreement.
It looks hideous. This is our male lead, and if Fat tries to have some sort of romantic subplot with this guy, I'm going to shotgun my brain in minecraft. It's very clear that Fat is the sort of person who thinks that the prevalence of humanoid species in sci-fi is an arrogant conceit of egotistical, short-sighted humans who think they're the center of the universe and can't comprehend that aliens could take any sort of shape. I don't know if you've ever run into that type of sci-fi geek, but they're largely insufferably smug. Fat wants to populate his book with 'real' aliens. He's going to break the rule of human-looking aliens, but like far too many rule-breakers, he doesn't understand why the rule is there.
The rule is there because if you change too many things, it's going to end up affecting your setting and your characters in unforeseen, inconvenient ways, and it's going to alienate your reader who will have trouble connecting with your skinless ghoul creature.
To start with, Fat has described something you literally cannot picture in your head. What does 'exposed pieces seemed to be held together by nothing more than collective agreement' mean? Such a thing wouldn't work in reality, so it's not something a person can picture without resorting to some absurdist, cartoony nonsense.
Then it has no skin. Skin isn't like hair, where you can get along being bald just as well as having hair. Skin serves an important function, keeping your insides in and keeping bacteria, poisons, and irritants out of sensitive interior areas. Plus, it's going to smell awful. If the alien lacks skin, it's going to need to make up for that lack somehow. Actually, it won't because it'll be dead, as it should be. And so should Fat.
And then there's the part where it's absolutely, hideously repellant. Humans rightly associate a complete lack of skin with tortuous pain and imminent death. Such a sight would be sickening at a very primal level. Humans wouldn't want to look at it, much less be around it. Of course, the affect the sight of this alien has on First lasts for all of one sentence. One fairly mild sentence. First clearly doesn't believe what she's seeing, and therefore neither does the audience. No one is going to want to picture what Fat has described in their head, and so the book is going to have a male-protagonist shaped hole in it whenever that character enters a scene. Every time a reader wants to picture what they're reading in their head, it's going to pull them out of the book because they're going to be reminded that they don't want to see the male protagonist.