"Yoo Hoo! Tarzan! It's me, Ben! You remember your little Ben, don't you?" annual passport holder, Ben shouted up at J.J., who was in the 122 million dollar, neuro-stimulated, computerized, sensor suit, which made J.J. look, and sound just like Tarzan, the real jungle man himself.

J.J. dangled like a monkey from the rope bridge high over head, and made some ape noises for the crowd below.

"Oh, my, isn't he the most handsome creature you've ever seen?" asked annual passport holder, Ben, clasping his hands over his heart.

The preprogramed Tarzan costume went into automated mode, and reached out to grab a vine. J.J.'s heart skipped a beat, when he realized the suit had taken over all his movements. J.J. tried to stop the hand of the costume from rising up, and reaching out for the vine, but the electro-servo motors of the costume were too powerful.

"Relax, cast member, J.J.," cast member, Greg said, coming over loud and clear on J.J.'s headset. "The costume has gone into automated mode, so just sit back and relax. Your next task, listed in the manual of official operating proceedures for the Tarzan attraction, which i strongly suggest you read this weekend, will be to stand around signing autographs, and smiling for photos. Just take the writing implement in hand, and squeeze your thumb, and forefinger together. The suit should take over from there, and write a perfect Tarzan signature, that is exactly the same, time after time. The costume is preprogramed to sign 120 signatures a minute, which is 7200 times an hour, and not even near the top speed of the autograph-signing, right wrist of the costume. I bet the guests don't even notice things like that. Or that each letter in Tarzan's signature represents the hand writing, of Walt, and five other artists Walt never knew, but hopefully would have liked."

"Yes, sir, cast memember, Greg, sir," said J.J. nervously.

J.J. gulped as the Tarzan costume, with J.J. in it, took a sideways jump off the rope bridge, clutching only to the plastic, but very real looking, long green vine. The Tarzan costume's computer quickly analysed the wind conditions, air density, gravitational pull, and many other factors before shifted it's weight to swing in a wide arc away from the rope bridge, and around the large concrete tree designed by Walt, himself.

J.J. couldn't help but stare down through the video glasses built into the suit. He watched as the Tarzan costume swooped him over the entrance to Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, over the roof top of Pirates of the Carribean, back over the rope bridge, and then, as the Tarzan suit had been preprogramed to do, continue for 3.3 loops, before lowering itself down, and landing on the character meeting platform, crouched like a panther, and ready to meet the public.

"Oh, i might faint," annual passport holder, Ben said, starting to swoon. "It's true what they say about Disneyland, all your dreams do come true. Over here, Tarzan!"

J.J. reached into his loin cloth, and pulled out an engraved Mickey Mouse Pen made to look like a tiny stick of bamboo. "Who, Want, Autograph?" J.J. asked.

A crowd of strollers quickly formed blocking all the entrance, and exit ways around the treehouse as a crowd of women rushed over to get in line for an autograph from the apeman, Tarzan.

Annual passport holder, Ben, awoke from his daze to find himself blocked by a crowd of women. "No way! Not again!" he shouted slightly panicked, but only for a second. Annual passport holder, Ben reached out for a nearby empty stroller, and using the stroller like a battering ram, forced his way through the crowd of autograph seeking women.

"Watch it , sister!" annual passport holder, Ben warned as he shoved his stroller over, and into the many high heeled shoes, sneakers, and clogs that were blocking him from getting an autograph from his beloved Tarzan. "He's mine! I saw him first," said annual passport holder, Ben, in a huffy puffy tone.

Using his stoller like a plow, annual passport holder, Ben quickly wound his way through the annoying women and up to the front, until he was next in line, for Tarzan's autograph.

Annual passport holder, Ben was so happy. He was standing only a few feet away from the man of his dreams. One look at Tarzan at this close range, and annual passport holder, Ben knew the three hour wait had been worth it after all.

Your Pal,
Ed

P.S. Chapter Nineteen, J.J. Needs Help!

Enjoy.