Although they've been living here for years now, we still can't communicate even the most basic concepts. At least humans who don’t speak the same language can point to some food, frown or smile, give a thumbs-up. But the ripples on their blob-like exteriors sure don't look like pointing, and they don’t seem to want or need food—nor shelter, tools, or weapons of any sort. But I and my followers know that’s just a charade so they can take over while our guard is down. That's why we're going to strike tonight, all over the world—before they strike us first.