That dude that is on the WECT website for setting up a fake bomb at the courthouse today is crazier than batshit.
I have no problem with the guy, but I have sat in a hot tub with him many times at the YMCA, and I know one thing: he shouldn't be allowed to roam freely among the human population. His behavior is so odd. I don't mean to trash him, I just don't think he's in control of his own mind.
There are a lot of weirdos at the YMCA, and he still stands head and shoulders above most of them as the craziest. I have a post-workout of ritual of soaking my muscles in the hot-tub for at least ten minutes after every time I visit the gym. I used to hate when I would be relaxing alone in the giant tub only to see that dude coming in. The thing is: he always seemed to think he was alone. And he would stare at the painted cinderblock walls and alternate between laughing loudly at them and then going into a rage where he would look at the wall like he was gonna kill it. Then he would laugh again, and then get madder. He would occasionally have the rare day where he would seem to be "all there" and he would converse with other people. I always wanted to interrupt and be like, "Careful, he's gonna snap any second." But I never did, and he never did. He must just hate walls and not people.
I remember the day that the Virginia Tech shooter went crazy and killed everybody. I remember because I ended up in the hot tub with that crazy future fake-bomb guy and some old also-crazy redneck lady. She didn't seem to care one bit that that Korean nut-job killed 35 people. She only cared to share her feeling that she hoped that the shooter stopped at the last second to repent and get himself into heaven before he shot himself. The crazy future-bomber guy just nodded and agreed with her. I'm not arguing the right and wrong of that, but how did two strangers find each other in a hot-tub and come to the same insignificant primary thought about a fresh mass murder? And why did I have to witness this inane conversation? I must've been something bizarre and sadistic in a past life.
Anyway, that dude also had a job. He was a bouncer at one of my least favorite places: Rum Runners (I call it Cum Guzzlers. It sucks. Dueling pianos are gay. Yes they are.) I saw him working their one night and said to my friend Anch, "That dude is a psycho. I don't know how he holds a job."
Anch said, "So now it all makes sense! One time, I was sober, because I had just gotten here, but he picked me up and threw me out because I tripped on a rug that wasn't placed proper and flat on the ground. It obviously wasn't my fault and I caught myself. It didn't add up. Now it makes sense. He's nuts!"
They must only hire lunatics at that place, because I got lectured a few months later by a different door guy there for being too drunk while I was waiting in line to get in. Here's the thing: I was sober, standing still, and not even talking. I won't go into great detail, but I'll say this: That guy will never speak to me that way again. And he will forget who I am. And he will not even consider speaking to me like I was a child again. Unnecessary punk.
Back to the guy who placed a fake bomb at the courthouse - he doesn't need a jail, he needs an institution.