THE DUMP: MAY 9, 2025
Originally posted May 9, 2025
Welcome back to The Dump—your weekly look at the weird, the wild and Williamson County.
We sort through the garbage heap of local news, pull out what matters—or at least what smells the worst—and shine a bright LED headlamp on the raccoons running the place.
Let’s dump it out.
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BUILD-A-BRIDGE WORKSHOP: FRANKLIN PAYS, TDOT DELAYS
At this year’s State of the City address, Mayor Ken Moore pitched unity with a slogan: “One Franklin.” But the real theme was “One Bridge (Maybe), If the State Feels Like It.”
Franklin is offering up a six-cent property tax increase and millions in local dollars just to get Mack Hatcher Parkway finished—the same Mack Hatcher TDOT already agreed to decades ago, then quietly ghosted.
The new game? It’s not who needs the road— it’s who can pay off the ref.
What’s in it for you? A finished Mack Hatcher. Maybe. Eventually. If TDOT feels like it.
Welcome to Invest Franklin 2.0: the city pays for the limo, the dress, and the corsage—then gets ghosted by TDOT on prom night.
What happened?
Turns out Tennessee’s road funding model now works like a school fundraiser: if you don’t sell enough wrapping paper, your street doesn’t get paved. The Transportation Modernization Act (2023) rewrote the rules, prioritizing state road projects based on how much local money cities are willing to throw in. It’s a bake sale, but with asphalt and a billion-dollar price tag.
“You partner, or you wait 10–15 years.”
— Alderman Patrick Baggett, breaking the bad news like a utility bill in July
Franklin’s already done its homework—bought the land, moved the pipes, drew the plans. All that’s missing is the state check. And under TDOT’s new rules, you don’t get the check unless you slide a little cash across the table and smile like it’s your idea.
The catch? TDOT yanked the Mack Hatcher extension off the project list years ago. Why? Because the state funding well dried up. Baggett explained: “The rules were changed for everyone… Now all municipalities are having the same conversations.”
Meanwhile, the mayor wants to rebrand the tax increase as a net savings—the ol’ “rate goes down, but somehow you still pay more” trick. It’s like being told your dinner is half-off, right before they hand you a bill for two entrees and a surprise dessert you didn’t order.
WW BOTTOM LINE:
Your dollars at work—fixing state roads you already paid for.
At least the bathrooms in the new City Hall will be nice—perfect for crying after reading your next tax bill.
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BRENTWOOD HAS SPOKEN, AND THEY SAID “BYE MARK”
Brentwood voters turned out in massive numbers this week to send an unmistakable message: new balls, please.
Residents re-elected Rhea Little and handed two open seats to Janet Donahue and Kim Smithson Gawrys, booting both Mayor Mark Gorman and Commissioner Allison Spears in a stunning rebuke of the status quo.
The election followed weeks of mudslinging over the city’s racquet facility drama, dueling ethics complaints, and Gorman’s media-shy campaign that made journalists feel like telemarketers.
County Election Administrator Chad Gray confirmed the voter surge, calling it likely “the largest turnout we’ve had in a municipal election” since Brentwood’s founding.
Apparently, nothing mobilizes Brentwood like tennis courts, ethics complaints, and open records requests.
WW BOTTOM LINE:
The Dump will be courtside for the next serve.
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BLOOD, BONGS & BROADWAY: JEREMY DURHAM RIDES AGAIN
Cue the sad harmonica and fire up the dashcam — Jeremy Durham is back in the news, and buddy, it’s not because he found Jesus or a job.
The former Tennessee state representative — best known for being the only legislator expelled since the Civil War and for treating the General Assembly like a frat house — has now upgraded his résumé to include felony reckless endangerment, DUI x2, resisting arrest, and a bit of party paraphernalia for flavor.
It all started last fall, just before midnight in downtown Nashville, when Durham, apparently fueled by ego and edibles, rear-ended another driver on Broadway — at 11:15 p.m. The victim got whiplash. Jeremy got another mugshot.
Police said he was slurring, staggering, and had pupils like dinner plates, but Durham — ever the political strategist — declined sobriety tests and reportedly said, “It’s all about the blood.”
Yes, Jeremy. It was. And your blood said 0.136 — nearly twice the legal limit and just shy of honorary SAE membership.
When officers tried to cuff him, Durham allegedly asked, “Do we even need the cuffs? I’m a former state rep.” Which is precisely the kind of thing you say right before getting charged with resisting arrest.
Inside the car? A weed grinder with some leftovers.
Outside the car? A political career decomposing in real time.
But as it turns out, Durham hasn’t just been crashing into traffic — he’s been crashing through the dating scene, too. Thanks to a mountain of receipts from social media group, Are We Dating the Same Guy? | Nashville, we now know that Jeremy has been moonlighting as “Josh, 39”, a fake-age, fake-name version of himself who told women he had no kids, no wife, and a dream of opening an adult bookstore. (Seriously.)
Women from Nashville to Huntsville have come forward with stories that read like a cautionary tale wrapped in a restraining order:
• Still married, still living at home, still claiming to be single
• Lied about his age because he was “struggling with turning 40”
• Used Google Voice numbers so he didn’t have to share his real one
• Called himself “traditional” while asking women about their sexual history, then bailing if he didn’t like the answer
• One woman says he grabbed her wrist in a car and made a move she’s still traumatized by
• Dozens more describe him as a manipulative creep who bounces from app to app, city to city
• And yes — he’s now infamous by the nickname: “Pants Candy”
Moving on — as the jury watched dashcam footage of Durham bobbing, babbling, and offering to grab a beer with the arresting officers, one thing became clear: this man didn’t just crash into another vehicle — he plowed through the last shred of his credibility.
And judging by the receipts, every woman from Franklin to Florence already swiped left.
WW BOTTOM LINE:
Jeremy Durham is a walking after-school special — proof that ego, expired influence, and leftover weed don’t mix with late-night Broadway traffic.
It wasn’t the sex scandals, the expulsions, or the federal probes that did him in.
It was the beer.
Before midnight.
And the burner phone.
And the alias.
And the grinder.
Google “Pants Candy” and run.
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PHOENIX TRIAL DERAILS: WHOOPS, THEY PLAYED THE TAPE THAT SAYS ‘GUILTY’
Speaking of disgraced former state reps, the Casada–Cothren Federal Corruption Spectacular added a fresh pratfall to its blooper reel this week: the prosecution accidentally played the one FBI interview clip everyone explicitly agreed not to show the jury.
In the recording, Glen Casada explains that Speaker Cameron Sexton never would’ve signed off on the Phoenix Solutions contract if he’d known Cade Cothren was behind it — then adds, for good measure:
“And I think he is right.”
Which, legally speaking, is a lot like shouting “GUILTY!” during a trust fall.
The defense cried foul. Cothren’s attorney demanded a mistrial. Casada’s attorney echoed the motion, presumably out of instinct. Prosecutors apologized, swore it was an accident, and then (with perfect prosecutorial confidence) reminded the judge that no one noticed the first time it happened — not even the defense. Translation: “Oops, but also, your bad.”
Judge Eli Richardson, after nearly an hour of carefully not laughing, denied the motion Wednesday. He ruled the clip was “not powerfully incriminating,” that the jury probably didn’t even notice, and, most importantly, that it wasn’t intentional. The jury was told to disregard it, like that ever works.
Meanwhile, courtroom chaos continues: hand signals from the gallery, conspiracy theories about school voucher votes, and a defense strategy that now hinges on maybe the FBI was there for something else entirely. No word yet on whether Sexton will take the stand, but his flack’s been parked in the gallery like it’s a season finale.
The prosecution rested its case, and closing arguments could come soon — if the defense doesn’t drag it out with a parade of character witnesses and finger-pointing.
WW BOTTOM LINE:
This trial isn’t just off the rails — it’s in the parking lot doing donuts.
It’s less State of Tennessee v. Casada and more Law & Order: Clown Car Division.
And yes — the government rests.
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REASSESSMENT ROULETTE — SPIN THE WHEEL, PAY THE BILL
Congratulations, homeowner. The County has looked at your house, gasped dramatically, and decided it’s now worth $895,000—whether or not your countertops still have 2009 laminate.
That’s up from around $762,000 just five years ago, according to budget documents presented at the May 6, 2025 Budget Committee meeting. And thanks to Tennessee’s mandatory reassessment laws, your house didn’t just gain imaginary equity—it gained real tax consequences.
Here’s the punchline:
• The state says the county must lower your tax rate to keep revenues “neutral.”
• Then the county turns around and says, “Cool. Now let’s raise it again.”
They’re proposing a 13-cent increase—8 cents for general operations, 5 cents for schools—which officials say will just barely cover the new budget.
If you’re the proud owner of a now-average $895K home, you’ll be paying about $623 more per year. That’s a 17.4% jump in your property tax bill.
And each “penny” on the new rate?
It now rakes in $2.7 million—up from around $1.8M. That’s a $900,000-per-penny glow-up. Commissioners called it “modest.” One even bragged we’re now “knocking on Knoxville’s door,” like that’s a compliment and not a cry for help.
And no, this isn’t just about your house’s new paper value. It’s about the budget shortfall they knew was coming—and are now plugging with your living room equity.
The next reassessment won’t hit until 2029. That gives you four whole years to stare wistfully at your driveway and wonder how your garage became an ATM for county operations.
WW BOTTOM LINE:
The county didn’t raise your taxes—your house did.
And when it came time to collect, guess whose couch they found it in?
Hope your throw pillows are hiding some cash. You’re gonna need it.
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LITTLE HATS, BIG FLAVOR: FRANKLIN’S NEW ITALIAN STAPLE
Cool Springs just got a lot more gluten-forward.
Little Hats Italian Market—Nashville’s reigning champion of “I didn’t know I needed this much meat on a sandwich”—has officially opened a second location off Carothers (near Tony’s for you drunks). If your lunch break includes regret and possibly a defibrillator, you’re in the right place.
This isn’t your average deli. It’s a full-on carbohydrate ambush with a market full of imported goods, outdoor seating, and a prime spot next to Handel’s Ice Cream for the post-sandwich shame spiral.
What to order?
Start with the fried ravioli: lemon-zested, crispy, and dangerous if you have plans after. The Spicy Italian sandwich? It slaps harder than a Sunday School teacher.
Other contenders for best food coma include the chicken parm, eggplant parm, and a garlicky potato salad — sounds boring. Definitely is not.
And if you think you’re just swinging by for a sandwich, brace yourself—the pantry goods here could make your spice rack feel underdressed.
WW BOTTOM LINE:
Come for the sandwich. Stay because you physically can’t move.
We’re not saying it’s life-changing—we’re just saying you’ll probably think about it tomorrow.
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FINAL FLUSH: ARTIFICIAL TURF AND THE NEW GRASSROOTS GRIFT
Once upon a time, “grassroots” meant neighbors.
The real kind — knocking on doors, taking notes, showing up to budget meetings because they lived down the street, not because a campaign strategist told them to.
Today?
“Grassroots” means consultant-run email blasts, paid social media admins pretending to speak for the Republican Party, and GOP Chairman Steve Hickey bouncing between YouTube interviews like he’s auditioning for a charisma transplant — piped into platforms nobody watches yet some candidates pretend to respect.
Let’s stop pretending this is homegrown.
It’s Astroturf with ambition.
Not built on neighbor-to-neighbor trust, but on donor spreadsheets, consultant invoices and six-figure mail budgets funded by the very machine they claim to oppose.
These aren’t small-dollar insurgents. They’re self-professed professional marketers running a full-service operation — just with American flag backdrops and a ring light set to delusion.
And it’s all connected.
WCRP claims to be for Republicans, but works to shrink to just "their" Republicans.
Tennessee Stands claims it’s about your liberty, while its founder is fundraising his way to higher office.
And Brentwood’s so-called community-first candidates? They weren’t just adjacent — they were shoulder-to-shoulder with the whole cast: party activists, Tennessee Stands operatives, and every other PAC-branded patriot shouting “grassroots” from forum to forum.
Mark Gorman and Allison Spears starred in a series of amateur videos on Rumble, delivering rehearsed lines about overdevelopment and “preserving character.” They consorted with the same slate of self-declared grassroots crusaders, who were also featured in the video series, and are now installed inside the county party.
They were backed by the same money, boosted by the same mailing lists, and blessed by the same self-righteous kingmakers.
None of this is grassroots.
And, in case you were wondering, small-dollar donations don’t buy million-dollar homes for unemployed political darlings.
But here’s the thing: The electorate isn’t stupid.
They see through the weekday coffee shop strategy sessions that working people can’t attend — but retirees can, and that’s the point.
They see Hickey trying to podcast his way into relevance.
They see Gary Humble measuring Senate curtains, yet somehow affording to be the neighbor down the street with no real employment.
They see the same insiders dressing up their next grift in red, white and “grassroots.”
And when your racket-facility “activists” start filing public records requests with Parks and Rec to get contact info from families who signed up for tennis?
That’s not civic engagement.
That’s just creepy surveillance for sore losers and amateur operatives.
So let’s call it what it is:
It’s grift, not grassroots.
Repackaged. Rebranded.
And finally — rejected at the ballot box.
Thank you, Brentwood.
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That’s The Dump — thanks for reading! See you next week.
Bring a pal. Bring a screenshot. Maybe bring a burner phone — because your Parks & Rec signup shouldn’t come with campaign spam.
And for the love of all that’s decent — stay away from anyone named Pants Candy.