“I Thought I Still Lived There” — Judge McNally SHREDS a Midnight Peeping Excuse as Alcohol, Lies, and Reality COLLIDE LIVE in Court

What began as a routine plea hearing quickly spiraled into one of the most unsettling courtroom exchanges Judge McNally had seen in years. At first glance, the case sounded almost laughable — a grown man caught peeking through residential windows at 4:30 in the morning, claiming he believed he still lived there. But as the judge peeled back the layers, what emerged was not comedy, but a chilling mix of alcohol abuse, memory blackouts, and public safety risks that could no longer be ignored.

The defendant, a man in his early thirties, stood quietly before the bench as the judge reviewed the charge: window peeping at a private residence in Woodhaven. The address was not his. It had not been his for two years. Yet there he was, before dawn, staring into windows of strangers who had no idea someone was watching them from the darkness.

Judge McNally immediately questioned the logic of the explanation. Returning to a home you once lived in is one thing. Standing outside it in the middle of the night, silently peering through the glass, is another. The judge’s tone was calm but firm, signaling that this courtroom was not a place where weak excuses would be entertained.

As the facts were laid out, the timeline grew more disturbing. The defendant admitted he was near the residence at approximately 4:30 a.m. He admitted he was looking into the windows. He admitted he did not know the people currently living there. When asked directly why he was doing it, he hesitated.

Then came the answer that changed everything.

“I used to live there,” the defendant said.

Judge McNally leaned forward. Used to.

“How long ago?” the judge asked.

Two years.

The courtroom went silent.

Two full years had passed since the defendant last lived at the property. Two years of bills, leases, addresses, and daily life elsewhere. And yet, according to the defendant, he genuinely believed — at that moment — that the house was still his.

That was when the judge stopped viewing the case as a minor misdemeanor and began treating it as a red-flag warning.

The court shifted focus to substance use. Judge McNally asked directly what the defendant had consumed that day. Alcohol, the defendant admitted. When pressed on how much, his answers became vague, evasive, almost incoherent. Eventually, he muttered a number that stunned the courtroom.

Twenty drinks.

The judge paused.

“Twenty?” he repeated.

The defendant nodded.

This was no longer about a simple lapse in judgment. This was about someone drinking to the point of losing touch with reality — so severely that he believed he still lived in a house he had left years earlier. Judge McNally articulated what everyone in the room was thinking: if someone can drink enough to erase two years of memory, what else are they capable of doing without remembering?

Legally, the issue became critical. A guilty plea requires a factual basis — an understanding of what was done and why. When intoxication is so extreme that a defendant cannot reliably explain their own actions, the court must consider whether accepting the plea is appropriate, and whether deeper intervention is necessary.

The prosecution confirmed the defendant had sufficient recollection to proceed. He remembered being there. He remembered looking through the window. He remembered drinking. What he could not remember — or refused to confront — was the danger of his behavior.

Judge McNally accepted the plea, but his demeanor had changed. This was no longer a transactional court moment. This was a judge grappling with responsibility, not just punishment.

“If you drink so much that you think you’re living somewhere you haven’t lived in two years,” the judge said, “that’s scary.”

The defense attempted to soften the situation, suggesting the incident was isolated, a one-time lapse rather than evidence of a deeper problem. Judge McNally was unconvinced. He pointed out the obvious contradiction: sober people do not peer through windows at 4:30 a.m. Drunk or not, normal behavior does not look like this.

The courtroom tension escalated when bond conditions were announced.

The defendant was ordered not to return to the property — not even within two miles. No contact with the residents. No alcohol. No marijuana. No illegal drugs. Mandatory substance abuse screening. Mandatory in-person AA or NA meetings at least twice a week. Fingerprinting and photographing by the police department the same day.

These were not symbolic conditions. They were preventative measures.

The defense hesitated. Then came the moment that stunned the room.

The attorney suggested the defendant was “having second thoughts.”

Judge McNally’s reaction was immediate and explosive.

“No,” he said sharply. “Are you kidding me?”

The judge made it clear: this was not a negotiation. The court had a duty to protect the public. Either the defendant was dangerously intoxicated, or he was deliberately peeping into windows — or both. Neither option was acceptable.

“There’s only one or two things that happened here,” Judge McNally said. “You were drunk out of your gourd, or you were peeping, or both.”

The judge rejected the notion that ordering AA meetings was unreasonable. He rejected the implication that accountability was punishment. And he rejected the idea that the defendant’s discomfort mattered more than community safety.

“If I don’t order what I just ordered,” the judge said, “I’m a bum.”

The courtroom fell silent again.

Judge McNally emphasized that he was not angry — he was concerned. Concerned that untreated substance abuse could escalate. Concerned that blackout drinking could lead to violence, intrusion, or worse. Concerned that without intervention, the next incident might not end with a plea hearing.

“I wouldn’t go to my own house sober and look through the windows at 4:30 in the morning,” the judge said. “I’d walk through the door. He didn’t even try the door.”

That single observation crushed the defense’s remaining credibility.

The judge scheduled sentencing for a later date, allowing probation to conduct a full screening and provide recommendations. He made it clear that his mind remained open — but not naive.

The defendant would attend AA. He would comply with bond conditions. He would be assessed. And he would return to court to face sentencing with a clearer understanding of what brought him there.

By the end of the hearing, it was evident this case was never about embarrassment or authority. It was about drawing a hard line between excuses and accountability.

Judge McNally had transformed a bizarre excuse into a sobering lesson: when alcohol erases reality, the justice system does not look away. It steps in — not to destroy lives, but to prevent the next, potentially irreversible mistake.

In a courtroom accustomed to routine pleas and quiet resolutions, this hearing stood out as a reminder of why judges exist at all — not merely to punish, but to confront the uncomfortable truths people try hardest to deny.