A View From The Mop

Little Words & These Fists in the Air (december)
By Jove "Lanky" Lank

Monica and I when sometimes we fight she raises her fist at me and
sometimes her middle finger too but I just say ‘Jesus’ back at her and
then she quits off. But these guys here in this office where all it is
that they do is read and talk about reading and read about reading they
have been raising their fists at me when I try to take these little scrap
pieces of paper from off of their desks when it seems like all it is, is
trash.

I clean here and the scraps of paper that I see are usually trash even if
they have a number or some words on them. Sometimes just by the waste bin
like they shot for a basket and missed. Sometimes in the toilet and I have
to reach in my hand and get them out. That kind of paper, those kinds of
scraps.

Pick it up and I get these raised balled up fists in the air at me, no
words but a gesture from these goddamn reading filthy readers.

These guys here in this place with Monica and me they must keep
everything. They must in their houses have all the things they have ever
had since when they were little boys and little girls. They must have old
birdcages and tiny baby shoes and empty frames and all kinds of other shit
that most people would know was trash and would put out on the curb or in
the bins but no these folks here they keep it all.

They are having a contest I think who can say the most by using only
little words on little pieces of paper. That would at least make sense,
and then I wouldn’t have to hear the air around their fists moving when
they raise them up at me, telling me without words that I shouldn’t touch
those pieces of paper that look like trash, their noses in books, reading.

I clean here and trash is trash is trash.

Me, I don’t keep anything except for Monica and that’s because we are
married and she only sometimes raises her fist in the air at me and how I
am. I clean but that’s it.

Jove 'Lanky' Lank is one of LWOT's oldest employees and has been cleaning the office since 1967 when he immigrated to Canada from Australia. His rantings first appeared in the pages of LWOT in the April 1974 issue as punishment for accidentally throwing out one of Gradey Alexander's manuscripts. Alexander beleived the embarassment at seeing the "lunatic ravings that are about as palatable as a teaspoon of cat litter mixed with acorns" would lead the janitor to quit in disgrace. Instead "A View From The Mop" went on to become one of the magazine's most popular features.

A View From The Mop

Pre-Orders? & I Eat Air (august)

By Jove "Lanky" Lank

I push the trash along the floor, my broom straight and all these goddamn things all over the floor. Paper cuts and holes, these little dots of stupid punched paper, trash from fast food and all the things they eat here, nothing left for me tonight, no half-sandwiches out on the desks for me to bite.

I clean up their own mess because these pigs here, they don’t know what mud is. Roll around in it pigs, Monica and I will keep your pens clean. This is how we make sense of us, Monica and me, pushing brooms and mops around.

And what I am seeing tonight in all the shit and filth, it is more money more money more money. I was seeing checks the other week, weeks ago, all these checks for a contest, for some panty-waist writer reader to read up all this writing, wishing I had the money in my pockets. But tonight, looking for food to swallow down, what I see are all the order sheets for the next big book coming out, for the next book by the next big asshole, the next novel from some kind of kid in new york pretending he is as poor as we are, Monica and me, eating cheese sandwiches by candle-light, pretending it is romance, chewing with our mouths half open.

Money for something that doesn’t exist, money for a book not even made yet. All this money from people who want to wear a concert t-shirt to the goddamn show, prove they knew the band when you could drinks beers back down your throat with them on stools during an intermission, them playing for the whole night booked up for a six-pack off the ice and a square of table to set their CDs on. That kind of thing.

And tell me, how do I get that gig? How do I get people to hand over their few dollars for something that doesn’t even exist, for something I haven’t made yet, just on the thought that I will? How does that work? It would be a goddamn miracle. Like eating air and getting filled up. Jesus H. Christ, mercy on us please, sometime.

A View From the Mop

Contests & My Teeth
By Jove "Lanky" Lank

Monica and me we eat a lot of bread that has been kept in a ball, we have balled it up with our fists, because that keeps it from getting dried out. It is mushy as shit that way, but if the bread gets dried out then we have to crunch through it and Monica and me, we have terrible teeth. Hell, most of my teeth are near gone. My whistle sounds like wind. I need to get them fixed, my teeth, but they cost me too much. Do you know how much they will charge you for one goddamn tooth?

And then I clean this place tonight and what do I see but a stack of checks, a bunch of paper that people have signed and what is it for? So that these idiots here they will read some asshole's story. People pay money to this office, the place Monica and I clean every day, all so that some tight-ass in a suit or a tie or a collared shirt will read their writing and write something back. And I have read what they write back too, like "this needs work, but good effort." Hell, I could write that much and I'm half stupid.

So yeah, send me a check. Goddamn. Send me your pennies and your nickels. I'm not too proud to sit under a tree and put coins into those rolls you get from the bank. I don't mind spending lunch with Monica eating balled up bread and making stacks of pennies. And I will be happy to write you something back. It's not a contest and you can't win anything by paying me, but I will read what you write if you send me a few bucks. I will even say what I think. I am not a good reader but I know about stories and I can say more than just "this needs work, but good effort". And it will maybe be enough to fix my teeth, if everyone sends me a few coins with a paper or two. Send away, because I am tired of chewing just on this one side.

A View From the Mop

Bookmarks & Jesus
By Jove "Lanky" Lank

I am eating half of a sandwich that one of these the guys who work here left on his desk when he took off in his BMW or his fancy-pants car that probably has seats that warm themselves of some other goddamn thing. I drive an American eagle. Tan. Hell of a car. Chugs gas like a champ and takes all those hills like it was dying. A car I can relate to, my car, old and built to last like me and my Monica, the way we keep going on no matter what.

This thing is roast beef and with some kind of dipping thing that was left in one of those Styrofoam containers, and it was still warm when I touched it and I’m not picky anyway, because Monica her cooking is sh_t. She cleans good and makes half our money so I eat nice and try not to say anything bad about her. Monica, always in the kitchen bent over the stove. Je__s.

But I spill which isn’t that big of a thing anyway because here I am with half a half-eaten sandwich in my mouth and holding in my hands the rags and a bottle of cleaner so really a spill here is nothing, especially like now, when no one is around and you can eat their leftover food and whatnot. But of course like it would it spills out and onto their paperwork which tonight is all of these g__d_mn bookmarks. Bookmarks for everything, stamped and written on and with all kinds of drawings and pictures. Like anyone cares about marking a book anyway. H_ll, I don’t even read that much, what in god’s name do they need so many bookmarks for?

So some make it into the trash, they won’t miss them. Must be a dozen or more bookmarks on this one desk alone. Like they read that much, these a__holes that work here. They don’t read, they eat sandwiches. That’s what they do, all these people here before they leave in their slick little cars going home to their mansions. Bookmark me here, how about that, otherwise I have to go home to Monica’s green chile again. J__us.

A View From the Mop

Pose-Modern & Monica
By Jove "Lanky" Lank

My girl Monica, she doesn’t speak a g__mn word of english, but she cleans toilets pretty good. She wears a straw hat when she vacuums and the people around here when they stay late they try to be nice, say hi, but they always call her Maria. She doesn’t understand a g___mn word they say to her so she just says hi, hola, and goes back to the toilets and the backpack vacuum.

Tonight on a desk I was cleaning with a rag and a bottle in my hands I saw this thing said pose-modern or I don’t know what but I can’t tell who the f__k cares about this shit when the governments are bailing out all the car-makers and banks. An uncle I have was replaced by a robot that turns screws and my grandfather had to go when they figured out that all the s__t he did was s__t anyone else could do but for probably cheaper. I clean the s__t here but who knows for how long.

But this pose-modern thing or whatever it was, I picked it up like I do around here, pick up people’s things when they aren’t looking and shake them sometimes, this stack of pages I sat and read because it looked rough like it had a real going over from the a__holes around this pretend office and I couldn’t find my way out of it. Crows and fish and rocks and people without names, all this her and him and she and whatever.

I’ve never seen a moon that is a fish or any g___amn thing. Every time I look at the moon its either full or its not or it is a sliver. And yes it shines but it isn’t a lighthouse or a woman’s face or a door to some place. Pose-modern I don’t even know what the f__k that means when people are losing their jobs and my girl Monica is stuck wiping up toilets for people who think her name is Maria but don’t care anyway because she just smiles and waves to them with her pudgy little fingers. J__us f__k C__st.

Jove 'Lanky' Lank is one of LWOT's oldest employees and has been cleaning the office since 1967 when he immigrated to Canada from Australia. His rantings first appeared in the pages of LWOT in the April 1974 issue as punishment for accidentally throwing out one of Gradey Alexander's manuscripts. Alexander beleived the embarassment at seeing the "lunatic ravings that are about as palatable as a teaspoon of cat litter mixed with acorns" would lead the janitor to quit in disgrace. Instead "A View From The Mop" went on to become one of the magazine's most popular features.