🐐LAWSUIT: G.O.A.T.

DUMMY OF THE WEEK

Ah, January. The month where most people at least pretend to reflect. A little restraint. A little growth. Maybe learning from last year’s unforced errors. It’s the season of fresh starts — or at least the polite fiction of one.

No one told State Rep. Gino Bulso.

Welcome back to Dummy of the Week — our occasional reminder that while calendars change, some habits are committed for life. It’s been a minute, so let’s ease back in gently. Now, before anyone says, “Come on, it’s a new year, give the man a chance,” fine — but first, let’s take stock of how 2025 ended and what Bulso already has lined up for 2026. Then you decide.

For the uninitiated, Gino Bulso has cultivated a very specific brand. He is the self-styled constitutional savior — forever filing, forever convinced that the solution to whatever ails us is litigation. If he’s not suing someone over something he believes is wrong, then he’s busy setting the rest of us up to get sued over something he believes is right.

Which brings us to last year’s main event: the TISA saga.

TISA — the Tennessee Investment in Student Achievement — is the state’s latest education funding formula. It replaced the old BEP system with a promise of transparency, flexibility, and money that actually follows students instead of disappearing into bureaucratic fog.

On paper, it sounded fine. In practice, for Williamson County, it translated to: “Hey, y’all are fancy — pay more yourselves.” TISA weaponized “ability to pay,” leaning on property values, fiscal capacity, and local wealth. If you live in a fast-growing, high-cost county, that means the state expects you to shoulder a larger share of education funding locally — even as enrollment spikes, construction costs explode, and inflation chews through anything not nailed down.

Everyone understood there were real issues here. The fix wasn’t mysterious. It just required a unified front — school board, county commission, legislative delegation — speaking with one voice and applying pressure where pressure actually matters.

But that window closed the moment Rep. Bulso decided speed mattered more than consensus.

Rather than doing the slow, unglamorous work of consensus, Bulso bolted for the courthouse with a small crew who wanted the credit of being first more than the burden of being right. And for a brief, intoxicating moment, they thought they’d nailed it.

Then reality showed up in a black robe and asked a simple question: “Standing?”

Once that issue surfaced, large portions of the case started disappearing — not on the merits, but on the far more basic question of who, exactly, had the authority to bring the complaint in the first place.

So congratulations, early adopters — shoutout to Tony Bostic, Donna Clements, Margie Johnson, Mary Smith, Barb Sturgeon, and Drew Torres. You were first. First into a filing that is now actively weakening Williamson County’s leverage on TISA reform. First into optics that look less like leadership and more like ego management.

And now, after skipping the groundwork and burning goodwill, Bulso is back — little cowboy hat in hand — asking the county commission, the school board, and frankly anyone with a pulse:
“Howdy, partners… wanna join my lawsuit now?”

No, Gino. That was the part you were supposed to do before you filed — before you convinced a small posse to sprint ahead and trip over their own shoelaces. Between the legal missteps and the theatrics, Bulso and his rodeo clowns didn’t just waste time; they turned a serious issue into a circus, likely costing the county credibility, leverage, and real money.

Which brings us to 2026.

Without missing a beat, Bulso has moved on to his next legal bonfire: religion in public schools.

Last week, he dropped a Williamson Herald op-ed declaring it time to “restore” prayer and Bible study to classrooms, framing it as a historical injustice and a moral emergency. For clarity, this isn’t a pro- or anti-religion argument. Plenty of people of deep faith can read this and see the problem coming from a mile away.

Once you mandate time for prayer or religious instruction inside public schools — opt-ins, waivers, fine print and all — you don’t get to stop at the Bible. And by the way, which version of the Bible? Laws are persnickety like that, and nothing says “freedom” like government picking which holy book gets prime-time reading slots.

Once that door opens, it opens all the way. The Quran qualifies. The Book of Mormon qualifies. And groups that exist solely to stress-test laws like this qualify too. There is no gatekeeper. You get what the Constitution gives you — not what the bill’s author hoped for.

Bulso insists it’s voluntary, but voluntary doesn’t cure establishment problems. Teacher involvement is state action. And once scripture is mandated, every doctrine walks through the front door holding a permission slip.

Just like with TISA, the tell is in the paperwork: opt-ins, waivers, careful choreography about who hears what and when. All of it reads like pre-litigation housekeeping.

And when the lawsuits come — because they will — Bulso won’t be footing the bill. Local school boards will. Taxpayers will. Williamson County will.

Which is why this keeps sticking in the craw. While all this is happening, the real work just sits there. A state representative is supposed to be doing legislative advocacy — boring, effective work on budgets, infrastructure, and growth. The stuff that actually helps people.

Instead, Rep. Bulso offers op-eds, wedge issues, and a steady stream of legal spectacle engineered for headlines and high drama.

And don’t forget — a lot of the people who voted for Bulso also voted for Trump. If Gino’s looking for a roadmap, it’s right there: translate national policy priorities into local results, instead of turning every cultural impulse into a lawsuit.

Faith already has avenues. Bible study is already happening in the wild. Public schools aren’t the shortage.

And that’s why, Gino Bulso, you’re back here — take a bow, partner, tip that hat: the man who looks at “consensus building” and thinks, “Nah, let’s just subpoena it.”
The first Dummy of the Week of 2026.

Oh, and before we go — quick question. You still got goats in your backyard, Gino? Because last we checked, that zoning looked a little… flexible. Just saying. Treat your neighbors the way you treat your constituents, and you might want Animal Control on speed dial.

New year.
Same Gino. Same goats. Same dummy.
And same taxpayers footing the bill.

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