Jolly Joy At Jupiter

pilot to co-pilot: are we close enough to drop the swagger? that was the question coming from the radios, all noisy and scratchy. swagger — that was me! and soon I was to be dropped into the jelly joy of Jupiter; the greatest and by far most mysterious planet known to mankind. 

I felt a little uneasy in the spacesuit they put me in and laid flat on top of the trapdoor. 

little swagger, you hear me? that sorry son of a bitch, I thought. he's jealous of me, being the one to be dropped into the layer cake. I returned with a snarl, a sound of a fart and laughed. ready to drop the bait, I said. so it shall be, he replied and the doors flung open and a great deal of gravitation sucked me into the atmosphere of mighty old jup. 

first I saw only red, like a sea of blood before my eyes. but as I sank, colours changed. 

winds howled (no hurricane on earth could match with) and from the heart of the beast rose bright blue lights, like phosphorescent tentacles fisting the dark. 

I had already fallen for several minutes when heavy showers drenched my coat.

rotationally I fell through strong rains and dry, almost desert-like climate.

all rotating and shaking in my spacesuit, I spotted pictures of immaculate beauty. 

resembling only in some of the most primitive ones, the finest artwork of the Quattrocento.

a book I had read years ago, by Stanislaw Lem, crossed my mind and all of this, what I saw, reminded me of the bizarre figures kelvin saw rising from the queer ocean. 

I knew I had to travel for a long while until I was to be useful, so I decided to sit back, relax and enjoy the ride. in the red rover, I was fed pills, that would make me not get sick, while I get down to the diamond fields. red rover to swagger, coming please. swagger here, I said. what's the matter, martini? swagger, you are now about 1000 metres down, can you update?

1000, ey? I cried. I penetrated old mighty Jupiters virgin skin about an eighth. 

well, martini, I'm not sure what you guys get to see up there, but it's pretty fucking beautiful down here. How's your oxygen level, little swagger? — he called me: little again, I thought.

well, martini, if you'd knock off the bullshit and come to the point, I'm fine.

little swagger, aint time for joking now, but I do understand you are alright.

red rover out, and the noise stopped. and just as I plunged back into the picturesque surrounding, the red rover turned the mic back on and he said once more: — little swagger.

you fucking faggot! I replied. I heard martini and some of the other cunts in the cockpit giggle. all of you are fucking faggots, I said. why dont you suck each other off and leave the business to me. watch the oxygen level, swagger. ah, whatever, I thought and turned the volume of the speaker down. I was almost fully covered in dense brown mist and as I glimpsed over my shoulder I spied Europe far away: all pristine, coated in steaming ice. 

I fell and fell and I got tired and decided to rest a little, for it will not be before 6 that I reach the promising terrain. so I shut my eyelids and fell asleep.

right away I slipped into a dream. I stood in a tiny room feeling sick. I opened the door and walked into a greasy old kitchen, being much smaller than the bedroom. 

the front door was locked and there were no keys. I hit my head a couple of times, for the ceiling was no more than 5 feet high. I went back to the room. there was a matrice on the floor by the wall, something like a wardrobe and a bookshelf. Still feeling not too well and being all shaky on the old feet, I had to look through the books and was quite impressed to be familiar with every single one. just then a sudden rush of nausea attacked me, as a result of lacking fresh air. So I pushed the window open in a hurry and started breathing with extraordinary effort. But there wasn't much oxygen coming from outside either and I leaned over as far as I could when I heard a voice calling for me. 

I looked straight ahead and on the other side of the patio, I saw co-pilot miller, from the red rover, standing motionless behind a shut window. on his face, he had an oxygen mask and he stood there just staring. I could feel I was going to drop any second if I was exposed any longer to this terrible condition. I heard the voice shouting again, but it wasn't co-pilot miller, who was calling. it came from way above, so I turned my head, facing the sky and saw martini, stretching his neck over a window sill, wigwagging his arms.

swagger? swagger?! what the fuck are you doing, swagger? I couldn't answer; though I tried: nothing but a scratchy sound came out my hole. swagger, you are far too low. is there any explanation for this? turn the jetpack on! Turn it on, little swagger!

There! I thought. he said it again. that sorry son of a bitch called me little again and just because I was the one, being dropped into the melting core of Jupiter, mightiest of all!