There's a whole mess o' porters settin' on thuh, front porch all day, dawgs at their feet, pickin' banjoes, eatin' applesauce through straws and waitin' for yer bags to arrive.

One key fits all locks, the menu is all "du jour", dependin' 'pon what's growin' wild and what ain't quick enough to crawss the interstate, yonder.

Dinner's at dusk, brekkus at dawn, laundry and linen every Wednesday. Dawgs are welcome in yer room so long as they ain't muddy, or bloody. No hawgs on th' beds, Mmmkay? By th' way, don't be drinkin' nuthin' from the bar fridge less'n y'all grew up in th' South. We don' wancha goin' blin' on us.

Them portraits o' Elvis, on black velvet, are for sale; jes arks at the counter. The leopard print carpet is also fer sale, if'n y'all can git it off'n the floor yerself.