The birds were tweeting beautiful melodies, notes stringing together to make amazing music.

Just then, the god opened his eyes.

Jim Pickens.

"What a wonderful day." He yawned, stretching and rolling his shoulders, satisfying cracking bones to follow.

Using his vampiric powers he blasted the covers off of him and rolled out of bed. To which he stood up and waddled to the door. Clothed and ready.

Like really, he sleeps in his goddamn clothes, shoes included.

"Time to go and check on the slaves in the basement. Hopefully, those peasants have finally put their artistic skills to work and have made me some paintings to sell." A grin flushed his face, rubbing his hands together like the Grinch.

Opening his door he moved downstairs, to which he was met with his loving wife, the Grim Reaper.

And she did not seem very happy. At. All.

"Jim Pickens! I'm sick of hearing that obnoxious sound of the alien babies crying. Why the hell are we keeping them? Why do you keep making UFOS abduct people and impregnate them? Sure the Santas are taking care of them, but it's growing to be a problem."

This isn't how Jim Pickens wanted to start his day, not at all, but with his charimatic- carasismatic-, charismatic -Why is it so hard to spell that?- personality he quickly convinced his lover that it was worth it.

"More slaves and test subjects, my dear."

"Oh. Ok."

Skipping downstairs into the basement he unlocked the door and walked in, spotting the various paintings on each and every canvas. Some being of apples, some being of desperate pleas for help, some being bland -describing their sex life-, and some actually being decent.

Humming, he sold all the paintings to hell knows where with a flick of the wrist. Coming up to him, one of his slaves cried out "Lord Jim Pickens, will we ever earn a tiny bit of money? We've been starving for months here."

The others cowered in fear of the backlash they knew they would earn despite only one person standing up, though one might consider this brave, to the slaves it was utmost stupidity.

"lmao no, in fact, just because you said that I'll take away your water too. Then I'll kill you as my son died, by being stuck inside a bed and starved and dehydrated for days, for speaking such foolishness. Be glad you at least have bathrooms, you mere peasant."

The cult leader spoke, glaring down at the now cowering artist who honestly had zero talent.

"But we don't even have bathroom-"

"Silence."

And so Jim left the room, his pockets full of money and a satisfied smile placed on his face.

His vampiric needs were coming to him, so after taking a shit, he led himself to the dungeons where the demon- I mean alien babies were being taken care of by the always happy Santas.

Coming up behind one, he sunk his fangs into the neck of the fat old man, dropping him down on the floor and leaving once more, now replenished and satisfied.

The weather was mid-winter, a light snow falling upon the ground. Great for skinny dipping with his hunny-boo boo the Grim Reaper, in which who came out in his suit.

They had a blast.

The Grim Reaper went back inside to work on his job, as Jim himself climbed out, did the twirly thing, and somehow was in his clothes or something. Sims logic.

Before the lord left to his restaurant, he made sure to call over some random strangers so they could freeze and die when he locked them into the pool with no way out. He made sure specifically that his party was a swimming party where no clothes were allowed and he blocked off every exit and exposure to heat.

From amongst the depths of hell, the Grim Reaper, who wasn't his husband, sighed and shook his head. God damn it. He has places to be, his anniversary with his wife is later today, and he'll end up late because Jim Pickens was being Jim Pickens. The mass murderer, immortal, vampiric, middle-aged furry who sets others on fires, runs a graveyard and restaurant combo where you'll end up literally being buried there since the only food they served was undercooked pufferfish and shitty dirty water, and bangs other random men. No homo.

Anyways, back to Jim, he had made it to his restaurant, where instantly he was welcomed by bodies of children, teens, adults, and elders alike dead at the tables. His employees had gotten used to this at this point, they should have never signed up in the first place. If they tried to quit, Jim Pickens would just end up burning them alive or get them abducted and fucked by aliens.

A newcomer chef was horrified at this, I mean, look at it! His pay was minimum wage! Stomping up to his boss, he threatened to quit and it resulted in another person dropping dead. The Grim Reaper came out from the black smoke that summoned around the area,

"Seriously Jim? Like god damn it, you are getting to the point of killing off the whole town. And you have pretty much 30 burial urns in your inventory. Chill the fuck out. This town's population is decreasing like flys dropping dead. You better find a solution to have more people here or you won't have anyone to kill- actually, yeah. Kill everyone. Then I won't have to come back to deal with your bullshit."

Jim was flattered.

"Aliens." Was his answer to increasing the population around here.

"I should've said nothing, damn it." then he poofed out of existence, the edgy music fading away.

"lmao, k."

Jim Pickens had randomly gotten a message from some random ass stranger he probably said hi to, or maybe someone he banged. Honestly, at this point, he can't remember. Oh well, he was being invited to a party at the club. So he invited his Occult club to come with him.

They had some fun partying, though for the most part the members just kept on cleaning things, even if everything was clean. One thing on their mind. Clean. Clean. Clean.

Jims had lured the DJ away and set them on fire as their blood-curdling screams echoed causing a commotion, everyone except the Occult members raced around the now deceased burnt to a crisp of a past human and mourned his death. Jim Pickens was laughing like a yandere bitch though.

It was even better since he was hired as a police officer, so no one could arrest him. Not like they knew anyway. Since no one could have seen the event.

It was going according to plan, he would swipe the speakers and everything then run home, though as soon as he neared and grabbed the electronic it flickers with a sound of static and Jim blacked out.

Kill me.

Admire our Lord and Savior Jim Pickens and become

one of his followers.