I have the unfortunate distinction of having actually *stayed* at the hotel at South of the Border when I was a kid.
The billboards were gimmicky things that--when driving my sister down to school from NY to NC and continuing on to visit relatives in FL--would utterly delight my brother and me (forgive us, we were very, very young. We never sausage a place). And my mom, bless her soul, thought it would be great to stay there.
The place was a dump. Obviously. We're talking 1987 and 1988 here, so the place was probably *slightly* less seedy than it is today (i.e., I don't remember any adult mags, and we steered fairly clear of the "leather" store). In retrospect, I should probably get multiple VD tests for swimming in that pool. The hotel was shockingly deserted. It was as much of a sleepcheap as you might imagine.
The real kicker though, is that after staying there, eating the somehow-offensively-Mexican cuisine and riding the giant sombrero up superhigh to look into... a field... across the border...
we ended up staying there again.
Twice more.
The final time, my mom literally moved the dresser in front of the bedroom door for fear of the other guests.
Adam