Atlantissues

Atlantis.
Tissues.
Atlantissues.

You have to sneeze.
But the Kleenex are nowhere to be found.

Absent.
Scented.
Abscented.

You know you bought some. You have evidence.
A receipt. A bag from the store.
But no sign of the actual items.

Clues.
Useless.
Cluseless.

Not that it's a huge deal. You could use toilet paper, or a paper towel, or a napkin, but you shouldn't have to.
It's the principle of the thing.
Capitalism might not be perfect, but it's all we've got right now.
And you spent the money. Where did the Kleenex go?*

You start to cry.
Great.
Now you need even more Kleenex.

Mystery.
Teary-eyed.
Mysteary-eyed.


* Answer: beneath the ocean, stolen by fish-people from Atlantis.

They also have all the socks that went missing from your dryer.

(They can't even use any of these things.
They just take them out of spite.
Because they don't have what we have, and they want it.
They want to be where we are. Walking around on those, what do you call them, feet.**

Or maybe they just want us to stop dumping our pollution on top of them.
And eating their friends and Jamaican musical instructors.)


** That's what they want the socks for. Wishful thinking.

Laundry.
Dreams.
Laundreams.

Which makes them cry and need the tissues.