"NAMBLA" Ned McStucky
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Damn shame about that poor old guy, that NAMBLA Ned.

See, the thing is that he didn't do what they say he did. Or at least, he SAYS that he didn't do the things that the courts sentenced him to prison for, even though he can prove he didn't do it, and that's probably got to be the damnedest part of all. Because his proof, such as it is, is sitting in the Bad Bad Place, and there's just no damn way to get that in front of a judge.

But let's back up a minute, here: way back in the mid-70s to early-80s, Ned McStuckey was running a pretty sweet deal out of his farm in rural Cali. Now, some people will tell you that he actually lived in Nevada at the time, or in Arizona or even in Utah, but the fact is that it was in California, and we know this because his trial was pretty well covered by the press at the time, and it was in California that the whole ordeal took place. Shit, if even half the assholes spreading rumors about Ned took a minute to just do a little bit of research, 90% of the legends about him would die off overnight.

Anyway: the old farmhouse that Ned owned was within a few hours drive of a secret spot that held a very special cherry: the Lick-Knot. This particular little gate into the Nether, hidden along an abandoned, rust-choked sewer-access road and described by some who've been there as a twist of dead trees which look like a screaming face with a big tongue, led to a corner of an otherwise-unidentified Boutique with a strange feature. People took to calling this thing the Carnivalus Infidelus Vomitorium - or the Truth-Pile, for short. Point is: a few hours walk from the Cherry and into the Hot Spot, there's a tent in the middle of all the rolling dunes of nothing. And inside that gray, rotting old big-top tent, there under the slate-colored desert skies, there's this big old pile of worn-out dentures, false legs, wigs and bent-up wheelchair-parts, all designed for kids.

Just, like, sitting there. Ten-foot-tall pile, and real wobbly.

And if you stand on top of that pile and try to tell a lie, well … what comes out is puke, instead.

Sometimes the puke has stuff in it, like matted pubic hair and centipedes and bits of linoleum and on one occasion, a bunch of condoms coated with blood. In fact, there's a whole field of study built up (and abandoned) about trying to figure out what these random-seeming objects represent, metaphysically.

But no matter what, lies told on the Truth-Pile got replaced with nasty puke-stuff, and back in the late-70s it was quite a well-known element of crasher-Lore. Just a couple grand as an investment, and you could fact-check anything. ANYTHING. Hell, there were rumors that some people even tried doing things like proclaiming that "blacks are inherently inferior" or "the following stocks will increase in price tomorrow" from the top of the Truth-Pile, just to check. How well these things worked, well … nobody knows. Million stories, and no way to verify.

Because there was only one guy selling the info on how to get to the Lick-Knot, and how to navigate & survive the walk to and from the Carnivalus Infidelus Vomitorium, and he was paranoid enough about the security of his little gold-mine that teams of crashers were blind-folded and driven around in circles for a few hours by McStucky and his son Kevin before they got to the Lick-Knot. Some people theorized that the Lick-Knot was no more than a few hundred yards from his house, while others will swear up and down that it was as far away as north-eastern Oregon.

How the McStucky family found the place, no one knows.

Oh, yeah, and about his son: he's dead, now. People say that Ned killed him, and in a real bad way, but Kevin's job used to be to keep a pair of shotguns on the blindfolded, handcuffed crashers while his dad drove, and he was apparently a really nice guy. Always full of helpful advice about how to pick off the huge gray 'gator-pigs that lurk under the sands there (watch for ripples), how to hunker down during a bad electrical storm (toss anything metal, curl into a fetal position as low to the ground as possible, and perch on your toes), and what to do if you see flecks of bright pink glass or sand (turn around and walk away; hold your breath, don't run and don't make noise). Hell, he even used to hand out little water canteens and bags of trail-mix to folks before they went in, and the one time on record that a team of 'Crashers tried to hijack the truck after a cherry-exit and Kevin shot three of them dead, he cried about it for hours.

So, the thing is that one day in 1982, Ned McStucky's life came crashing down in one huge tidal wave of shit.

He was arrested for the rape, murder and subsequent partial cannibalism of his own son, along with over three-dozen counts of child abuse, sexual misconduct and possession of child pornography. He went to prison in 1983 after a lengthy trial, and he did not do well there.

In 2004, "NAMBLA Ned" was released after new DNA evidence confirmed that he was not the killer, and since then he's done his damnedest to move on with his life. This has not been easy for him, and he has been hounded by rumors and allegations ever since. He lost his farm, his extensive savings, his good name, twenty-two years of his life and his son, all to an assailant that he can't find. Now, he's drinking himself to death and trying to forget the past. And the worst part, for the crasher community at large, is that he refuses to tell anyone where the fucking Lick-Knot is located.

The smart money is betting that NAMBLA Ned got heel-stomped by a hatchetman in service to the unknown demon-ruler of the unnamed boutique where the Truth-Pile is located, but if somebody did the deed to him, well, nobody's talking. And there's a whole lot of people who would kill to know how to slip back there, but again, if anybody knows, they aren't talking.

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