Otto: He is here! Everyone, act normal! Welcome to the Grotto.
Charles Cutler: Ah, the Grotto. Upon entering, one wonders which of the five senses is most brutally violated.
Otto: Did you have a nice drive up? [offers hand]
Charles Cutler: Sight and smell immediately burst into the lead as the obsequious innkeeper offers his sweaty slab of a hand like a bear taught to be friendly in hopes of a sugar cube.
Francis: Mr. Cutler, if you would just give us a chance...
Charles Cutler: And the pleading vultures immediately begin to circle. Their outlet mall attire creating such a vortex of misery that one loses the strength to even ask for a parking validation.
Piama: I'll take that for you, sir.
Charles Cutler: In a pathetic nod to diversity, they trot out the token native employee.
Francis: Uh, that's my wife.
Charles Cutler: Not content to merely ruin the vacations of a single generation, some of the employees decide to mate and breed. The mind reels, the thought of an endless stream of baboon-like hoteliers spewed out of the loins of the...
[cut to a bloody and bruised Charles Cutler laying on a stretcher:]
Francis: Otto, I'm sorry. I don't know what happened. It was like someone else was punching him.
Otto: Yeah, it was me.
Piama: Here's some of his hair if you need to put it on ice or something.
Charles Cutler: One recalls fiercer butt-kickings meted out on a preschool playground. The wounds are superficial, the bruising patterns unpersuasive. And never before has one seen such a grotesque ceiling. And frankly, blue is not your...