Under $10 And Incredibly Shameful: Carney’s Derailer

This is what happens when an aged giggling neo-con with a bushy-yet-waxed mustache keeps buying you and two Icelandic sisters free beer at the Farmer’s Market, then you all stagger over to Sheddy’s and run into your neighbors, then you drag the party to El Carmen on Third to see a “Los Angeles Tequila Bar™” and neo-con giggles, mumbling “I can’t believe they let me in, I’m wearing shorts!” on a Wednesday evening when all you meant to do was watch the Dodgers and shoot the breeze. This fucking plate is what happens. I bet you didn’t even know they served a dish like this at Carney’s, did you. Amateur.

Int. CARNEY’S Sunset Strip

“Hot Freaks”, Guided by Voices

She told me, liquor
I am a new man

“What can I get for you?”

“I’ll have, uh, a Derailer. And a chili cheese fry for good measure. Small fry.”

Hot freaks!

One eyebrow cocks. “Deeeerailer!” comes the cry. A line cook flinches. The guy on drinks stifles a laugh.

This one is on the house
This one is better than ever

Cashier shakes his head and plops down the steaming masterpiece of simplicity: Spaghetti and chili. Nothing else. There it is now in front of me on the counter, the Carney’s joke-of-a-take on Chili Mac. “Oh my holy good…” People are walking by. “Jeeesus! -” Staring at the plate, gasping, staring at my face, back to the plate again. That’s right motherfuckers. I’m going in, water’s nice and warm. Maybe you join me. I pick up the plate in grandiose waiter fashion, pivot and face the dining car. Plate feels like it weighs 2lbs, easy. By now, no exaggeration, the majority of the eyeballs in the establishment are staring at the Derailer and wondering what in the fuck, and why. All eyes on Ryan. I need some air. Patio time. Light breeze. Pasta, chili, peppers, hot sauce. I dive into the plate. Not three bites in, Hal speaks up:

Hal is my asshole.

“You’re not really doing this, sack of shit…”

This is already done. Take it and like it, Hal. More where that came from. Fourth bite and like magic, the scrutiny that my body had been devoting to my clouded head has been effectively rerouted to my quivering asshole. And amped.

I am a new man
Hot Freaks!

I can’t eat half of the plate, but it’s already served its purpose. I turn to the fries. Is it just me, or did they label my cardboard box “Shagi” ? I must look like Hal. I need a shave. I need a lot of things. I need answers. I need a nap. I turn around. All eyes in the train windows are on yours truly. Pointing. Giggling. Congratulating. I hold up my plate for all to see, flip them the bird and leave.

Hot Ffffff-f-f-f-freaks!
This one is on the house!
This one is better than ever!


Available exclusively at Carney’s