Paradise Island

From the heart of the jungle comes a savage cry of victory. This is Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle. From the black core of dark Africa, land of enchantment, mystery and violence comes one of the most colorful figures of all time.

Transcribed from the immortal pen of Edgar Rice Burrows. Tarzan, the bronze-white son of the jungle. And now in the very words of Mr. Burrows, the story of Paradise Island. The Agari Airport in the French Sudan consists of a small runway hacked out of the jungle, a sort of improvised hangar made of bamboo, and a ramshackle hut, imaginatively labeled office.

The site of the Agari Airport constituted the last straw to the already disheartened trio who viewed it hopelessly, as the jittany that had brought them out from the village disappeared down the narrow rock-strewn road.

Well, Trevor, I hope you're satisfied. Now that you've stranded us out here in the wilderness. No, there must be someone about somewhere. I don't see any airplanes. There must be one inside that grassy fair, Peter.

Come on, let's walk over to the office there. There might be someone inside. No, yes, and we can have a cup of tea in the restaurant there. And get the latest copy of the Tetler at the new stand.

Could I have some chronic books? No, there's no new stand there, Peter. That's the mother's idea of humor. Really, Diana, I think you might have a little consideration for Peter. I read too much consideration for everyone.

Why, I ever agree to this ridiculous trip is more than I can ever... I'll tell you why you agreed to the trip, because we're Stony Brook. And Uncle Reg was the only one to come across for the offer of a job.