A finer example of fern-bar horrors you will never find on a matchbook. The picture: a tub with human feet. And hands. The name: “Bobby McGee’s,” a reference to a miserable song screeched out by a drug addict who couldn’t aim for a note without splattering its neighbors with buckshot. The kicker: it’s not a restaurant, it’s a Conglomeration! Fern-bars always had names like this - W. C. Dillinger's Amalgamated Food and Drinkatorium Company. Gaah.

And it’s still around! Says one review:

An original feature of Bobby McGee's Restaurant is the talented service staff who serve and entertain wearing costumes bearing the likeness to comic book, movie, TV, or well-known historic and contemporary personalities.


Hell, in other words. But the reviews elsewhere are great. I suspect they’ve changed the matches to reflect the times. And I suspect that if you walk out on the bill, only to explain in the parking lot that “Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose / Nothin' don't mean nothin' hon' if it ain't free, no no” you’ll find that their version of the Bobby McGee philosophy may differ from Kris Kristofferson’s.