We're F**ked.

Last night a MacGuyver-esque ICBM arched into the midwest of America, where a phalanx of tripods was marching across the great plains. The warhead detonated at .5 miles above the ground. The explosion was 1024 times the power of the Hiroshima blast. The sky lit up all over the planet. It was seen from the shuttle.
We, in our filthy homes in Bronco Stadium (no wonder Napoleon Dynamite was such a freak, Idaho's making me want to drag wrestling figures behind buses), all cheered when the flash of light seemingly evaporated the Tripods on the big screen. We laughed. We cried. We imagined a martian exodus back to their grimy red homeworld. We imagined them cringing as we levelled atomic weapons at them. Perhaps some of us imagined then turning those same weapons towards other nations of our world, once again plunging our fair planet into cold (or not) war.
Of course, all we were thinking when we saw the tripods marching forwards still was "Oh sh*t."
The tripods are immune to nuclear power! Who knew! Our greatest weapon is completely innefective against them!
Our world is doomed.
Doomed de-doom-de-doomed.
Well, on the bright side, Mt. Ranier's gonna erupt real soon. Perhaps tonight. Perhaps tomorrow. Sometime soon.
The tripods have destroyed New Delhi, Capetown, Havana, Machu Pichu, Cyprus, Ankara, Athens, Buda-Pest, Munich, Vienna, Prague, Rome, and Ho Chi Minh City are gone. The world is on the brink of absolute destruction. Spokane, by the way, was the landing site of a cylinder. It is gone from us now.
Someone just peed on my computer. I brought along a few old wireless routers from home, so the network here can hold a few more than normal.
Tomorrow may be my last post.
I'm scared.
Mood: Ready to Die
Listening: "War of the Worlds Theme" by John Williams
Yearn For: The end