Jurassic Park, Not Suits

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The Expectation

You've watched the shows. You know how litigation is supposed to work.

Harvey Specter in a $5,000 suit, walking into a glass-walled conference room. The opposing counsel—equally well-dressed, equally sharp—already waiting. A beautiful paralegal slides a folder across the table. Someone says something clever. Someone else counters with something cleverer.

"I object, Your Honor."

"Sustained."

The jury gasps. The witness breaks down. Justice prevails by the end of the episode.

There are depositions in mahogany-paneled rooms. Discovery requests answered promptly. Hearings scheduled with professional courtesy. Opposing counsel meets you for drinks to discuss settlement because, despite being adversaries, you're both professionals playing the same game.

Maybe the pretty associate from the other side catches your eye across the courtroom. You schedule dinner to discuss terms. There's witty banter. Sexual tension. A deal gets made between the appetizer and the entrée.

That's what television tells you litigation looks like.

The Reality

The opposing counsel meeting you for drinks to discuss settlement?

In reality, it's Jerry Creel in church clothes on a Sunday, parked outside your house, observing your wife like a pervert from his car window. Head tilted out. Watching. A 60-something-year-old Building Official conducting surveillance on a woman in her own yard because her husband filed a federal lawsuit.

The professional courtesy between attorneys?

It's Michael Whitehead—another attorney, one of the pterodactyls—driving by your residence and making videos. Recording your property. Documenting your movements. Three hours before a quasi-judicial hearing where he'll appear as opposing counsel.

This, by the way, violates Mississippi Bar rules. Attorneys aren't supposed to conduct surveillance on opposing parties. There are rules about this. Professional standards. Ethics requirements.

Harvey Specter would walk into court and make an argument. A real argument. On the merits. He'd address the perjured affidavits—the sworn statements claiming "personal observation" of violations while the defendant was 2,000 miles away recovering from eye surgery. He'd dissect the timeline. He'd expose the lies. He'd win or lose on substance.

Tim Holleman? He complains that your motion has 36 pages instead of the allowed 34.

That's it. That's the response to documented perjury, medical impossibility, and constitutional violations. Not "the affidavit is accurate." Not "the observations were made on a different date." Not any defense on the merits whatsoever.

Just: "Your Honor, this motion is two pages too long."

Completely ignoring that a Building Official committed perjury. Completely ignoring that criminal charges were filed before the affidavit existed. Completely ignoring that armed police delivered a stop work order that violated IRC R114.2 on its face. Completely ignoring everything that matters.

Because addressing the merits would require defending the indefensible. Page counts are safer. Formatting objections don't require explaining how a summons traveled back in time to precede its own probable cause determination.

This is what passes for legal argument in Biloxi. Not "you're wrong and here's why." Just "you used the wrong font size, therefore perjury doesn't count."

Harvey Specter would quit the profession before filing that response. These dinosaurs file it without shame.

If We're Comparing Shows...

If we're comparing this to any show, it would be Jurassic Park.

Not the courtroom drama where everyone follows rules and the system works. The survival horror where you're running through the jungle, dodging dinosaurs that shouldn't exist, while the people who were supposed to keep you safe are either dead, corrupt, or hiding in a bunker somewhere hoping the problem eats someone else.

• There are no mahogany conference rooms. There are armed police delivering stop work orders.
• There are no professional courtesies. There are Sunday surveillance operations in church clothes.
• There are no discovery responses. There are perjured affidavits filed the day after the charges they're supposed to support.
• There is no Harvey Specter. There is Jerry Creel with five hats and his own Deputy Clerk of Court.

The Dinosaurs

Let me introduce you to the wildlife:

And I mean dinosaurs literally. These aren't sharp young attorneys fresh from law school with something to prove. These are 60-plus-year-old relics who should have retired a decade ago. Obsolete. Slow. Corrupt. Creatures from another era who survived not by adapting but by making sure nothing around them ever changed.

They're not dangerous because they're smart. They're dangerous because they've been doing this for so long that the whole ecosystem evolved around them. The fences were built to their specifications. The feeding schedules accommodate their habits. The park staff knows not to make eye contact.

You watch Suits and you expect opposing counsel to be formidable. Clever. Worthy adversaries in expensive suits making sophisticated arguments.

This is what they don't show you on television. The sheer pathetic absurdity of it. The gap between the sharp legal drama you expected and the geriatric corruption you got. Harvey Specter would be embarrassed to share a courtroom with these people. Not because they'd outsmart him—because the indignity of it would be unbearable.

The T-Rex: Peter Abide

The apex predator. Doesn't do his own hunting—has others do it for him. Waits in the tree line while smaller predators flush out the prey. Bills $150/hour whether he moves or not. Technically an "outside contractor," which means he's not really part of the park, but somehow he's running it.

You never see him coming. You just see the destruction he's directed.

The Velociraptor Pack: The Building Department

They hunt in coordinated groups. One distracts you with a stop work order while another flanks with criminal charges. They test the fences—your permits, your compliance, your patience—looking for weaknesses.

Jerry Creel is the alpha. Jennifer Polk manufactures the paper trail. Jeff Harbor delivers the initial strike. Tara Busby processes the kill.

Clever girls.

The Dilophosaurus: Brooke Vanover

Looks harmless. Just a Deputy Clerk. Just processing paperwork. Then she spits venom—rubberstamping criminal charges without judicial review, processing summonses before affidavits exist, enabling the whole system while pretending to be administrative staff.

The frill only comes out when you're already trapped.

High-level secretaries who should be scheduling meetings and filing documents. Instead, they deal in traffic of influence and corruption. They don't practice law—they circumvent it. They don't facilitate discussion—they eliminate it. Vanover doesn't process paperwork; she launders prosecutions. The job title says "Deputy Clerk." The job function says "co-conspirator."

The Pterodactyls: The Attorneys

Michael Whitehead. Zachary Curthirds. J. Henry Ross. They circle overhead, occasionally swooping down to file a motion or conduct surveillance outside your home before a hearing. You can't ignore them, but engaging directly just wastes energy you need for the ground predators.

Tim Holleman—that's the one who says he doesn't represent anyone, then shows up everywhere representing everyone. The pterodactyl that keeps landing on different dinosaurs and claiming he's not part of the flock.

The Compys: The Inspectors and Staff

Small. Individually harmless. But they swarm. Every inspector who "didn't know" why the stop work order was issued. Every receptionist who "isn't allowed to talk to you under orders of City Attorney Peter Abide." Every staffer who was "just following orders."

One compy is an annoyance. A hundred compys will strip you to the bone.

The Park is Not Under Control

In Jurassic Park, the disaster happens because the systems fail. The fences go down. The security protocols collapse. The dinosaurs escape.

In Biloxi, the disaster IS the system. The fences aren't down—they're designed to keep citizens in while predators roam free. The security protocols don't fail—they work exactly as intended, protecting the predators from accountability.

And there's no helicopter coming.

Survival Tactics

When you're being chased by a T-Rex, you don't file a motion. You run. When velociraptors are testing your fences, you don't schedule a conference. You reinforce. When the whole park is trying to eat you, you don't complain to management. Management sold tickets to watch.

Here's what they don't teach you in law school—or in Suits:

• Don't stand still. The moment you stop moving, they surround you. Keep filing. Keep documenting. Keep the record growing.
• Don't expect the rules to protect you. The dinosaurs wrote the rules. IRC R114.2 requires reasons and conditions in stop work orders? They don't care. Mississippi Rule 2.2 requires probable cause before summons? They file the summons first. Ten business days to cure violations? They file charges in seven.
• Don't trust the fences. Every institution that's supposed to protect you—the City Council, the Board of Appeals, the municipal court—is inside the park. They're not refuge. They're feeding grounds.
• Do document everything. The dinosaurs are fast, but they're not subtle. Every Sunday surveillance. Every perjured affidavit. Every armed police delivery of a piece of paper. They leave tracks. Follow them.
• Do go outside the park. Federal court. FBI. State Department. The park's ecosystem doesn't extend past the fence line. Out there, T-Rex is just another defendant, and velociraptors are just named conspirators in a RICO complaint.
• Do survive. That's the only win condition. Survive long enough to get the evidence in front of people who aren't part of the park. Survive long enough to reach the helicopter. Survive long enough to tell the story.

Welcome to Dino-Kangaroo Park

And here's the beautiful hypocrisy—rules for thee, but not for me.

The local court isn't a court. It's a kangaroo court. So much so that Biloxi citizens should be entitled to Australian citizenship under jus solis—right of the soil. If you're going to be subjected to kangaroo proceedings, you should at least get the passport.

And here's the punchline: you know what a group of kangaroos is called?

You can't make this up. The people running the kangaroo court are literally, taxonomically, by definition—mobsters. The Dixie Mafia comparison writes itself. A mob of kangaroos hopping over justice, skipping procedures, landing wherever they want. Biloxi's Municipal Court isn't just corrupt. It's zoologically accurate corruption.

Welcome to Dino-Kangaroo Park. Where 60-year-old dinosaurs run a kangaroo court staffed by mobsters. Where the predators are prehistoric and the proceedings are Australian. Where you get eaten AND hopped over simultaneously.

At least Jurassic Park only had one kind of animal trying to kill you.

Rules for Thee, But Not for Me

Locally, the high-level secretaries will charge you criminally under a stop work order addressed "To Whom It May Concern." Not your name. Not your company's name. Just "To Whom It May Concern"—like a form letter from a credit card company.

The permits? Under a company name. The property? Owned by two people. But they prosecute YOU specifically. The one who filed a federal lawsuit. Somehow "To Whom It May Concern" magically concerns only the citizen who dared to sue.

No procedural problem there. No one objects that the charging document doesn't name the defendant. No one asks how you prosecute a specific person under a document addressed to no one. The high-level secretary stamps it. The perjured affidavit follows a day later. Criminal defendant.

Now, in federal court? Different story.

These same people—through their $150/hour attorneys—will waste everyone's time for five months arguing that you need to add the other property owner as a party. That claims involving the company must be removed because "it's not procedurally correct." That your complaint has technical deficiencies that require amendment after amendment after amendment.

• They prosecute you without naming you. Then they demand you name everyone perfectly or get dismissed.
• They file criminal charges before the affidavit exists. Then they argue your civil complaint has timeline issues.
• They skip every step of their own ordinance—no Notice of Violation, no ten-day cure, no enforcement conference, no City Council hearing. Then they claim YOU failed to exhaust administrative remedies.

Rules for thee, but not for me.

All while billing the City of Biloxi—which means billing YOU, the taxpayer—over $220,000 to deny a $97 Certificate of Occupancy. That's what procedural games cost. That's what "To Whom It May Concern" prosecutions generate in legal fees. That's what happens when dinosaurs control both the local courts and the billing.

The Cast of Characters They Expected

They expected the usual prey.

Someone who would get the stop work order and hire a lawyer. The lawyer would bill $300/hour to send letters. The city would respond slowly. Delays would pile up. Eventually the citizen would run out of money, settle for whatever they could get, and walk away.

That's how it usually works. That's the movie they thought they were in.

They expected someone who would be intimidated by armed police. Someone who would crumble at criminal charges. Someone who would give up when the municipal court maintained a stop work order indefinitely despite dismissing the case.

They expected a goat tied to a post, waiting for the T-Rex.

What They Got

They got someone who took notes.

Someone who recorded conversations. Someone who preserved emails. Someone who photographed the Sunday surveillance and filed it with the FBI.

Someone who read the IRC and cited R114.2. Someone who read Mississippi criminal procedure and spotted the summons-before-affidavit impossibility. Someone who read the ordinances and mapped every skipped step.

Someone who filed in federal court because local court was inside the park. Someone who contacted three FBI field offices. Someone who triggered a State Department investigation by documenting ITAR violations.

Someone with an aerospace engineering background who treats litigation like orbital mechanics—every action calculated, every trajectory planned, every contingency mapped.

Someone stubborn enough to fight for years. Petty enough to document everything. Analytical enough to see the patterns. And crazy enough to enjoy it.

The Difference

In Suits, the hero wins because he's smarter than opposing counsel.

In Jurassic Park, the survivors win because they outlast the dinosaurs.

This isn't about being smarter than Peter Abide. He's not dumb—he's built a machine that's extracted hundreds of thousands of dollars from Biloxi taxpayers. He knows what he's doing.

This is about surviving longer than his machine can sustain itself.

Every article published is another day survived. Every federal filing is another fence between the predators and the prey. Every FBI contact is another raptor that won't be hunting tomorrow.

The dinosaurs are big. The dinosaurs are powerful. The dinosaurs have controlled this park for years.

But dinosaurs don't adapt. They just keep doing what they've always done, because it's always worked before.

Until it doesn't.

The Ending They Didn't Plan For

In Suits, cases settle. Deals get made. Everyone shakes hands and moves on to the next episode.

In Jurassic Park, the survivors escape. The park burns. The dinosaurs are left to their island, contained and exposed.

That's the ending we're writing.

Not a settlement where everyone walks away quietly. Not a sealed agreement that buries the evidence. Not a dismissal that lets them pretend nothing happened.

An ending where the park burns. Where forty articles document every dinosaur, every attack, every failure of every fence. Where federal courts have permanent records. Where FBI files exist. Where State Department cases stay open.

An ending where everyone knows what Biloxi's Building Department really is.

A Note for Other Prey

If you're reading this, maybe you've been inside the park too.

Maybe Jerry Creel denied your permit. Maybe Jennifer Polk issued you a stop work order. Maybe you got the runaround, the shifting requirements, the fees that never end and the approvals that never come.

Maybe you gave up. Most people do. The park is designed to make giving up the rational choice.

But maybe you didn't. Maybe you're still fighting. Maybe you're still running.

If you are: you're not alone.

The undersigned has been contacted by others. Citizens with stories. Property owners with evidence. People who thought they were the only ones until they saw someone else fighting the same dinosaurs.

We are not alone. And together, dinosaurs become exhibits.

Say No

• SAY NO to Building Officials having their own Deputy Clerks of Court. Jerry Creel recommended Brooke Vanover's appointment. Now she processes his criminal charges without judicial review. The man who files the affidavits controls the clerk who stamps the summons. This is unconstitutional. This is not how criminal justice works. This is a Building Official with his own court.
• SAY NO to dinosaurs charging people under false crimes. The International Residential Code is not a criminal statute. IRC violations are not crimes under Mississippi law. You cannot prosecute someone for "violating IRC R114.2" because IRC R114.2 is a building code provision, not a criminal law. They're charging citizens with crimes that don't exist—and no one stops them because no one knows better.
• SAY NO to illegal surveillance. Jerry Creel in church clothes watching your wife from his car. Michael Whitehead driving by your house making videos before hearings. Attorneys conducting surveillance on opposing parties in violation of Mississippi Bar rules. This is stalking. This is harassment. This is not code enforcement.
• SAY NO to the stealing of public funds through sham legal proceedings. Over $220,000 of taxpayer money spent to deny a $97 Certificate of Occupancy. Exposed, exposed, exposed—but still billing. Creating liability, then billing to defend it. Manufacturing violations, then billing to prosecute them. Losing cases, then billing to appeal them. This is theft. This is corruption. This is your money.
• SAY NO to Dino-Kangaroo Park.

Checks and Balances

The Founding Fathers designed a system of checks and balances. No single branch of government should have unchecked power. Executive, legislative, judicial—each watching the others. Each constraining the others. Each preventing tyranny.

To the dinosaurs of Biloxi, "checks and balances" means something different.

That's their system. That's their constitution. Peter Abide checks his account balance—$566,000 per year from City contracts. Jerry Creel checks his authority—five positions, zero oversight. Currie Johnson & Myers checks the billing—over $220,000 on one case alone.

The only balance they care about is the one at the bank.

Checks and balances? They write the checks. To themselves. The balance? It's in their favor. Always.

The City Council that should provide oversight? They defer to the City Attorney. The Board of Appeals that should review decisions? The Building Official is its Secretary. The Municipal Court that should ensure due process? The Deputy Clerk was appointed on the Building Official's recommendation.

Every check has been captured. Every balance tips their way. The system of oversight became a system of self-enrichment.

• Constitutional checks and balances: designed to prevent tyranny.
• Biloxi checks and balances: designed to prevent accountability.

Same words. Different meanings. One protects citizens. The other bills them.

The dinosaurs are old. The kangaroos are obvious. The mob is documented. The only thing keeping this park open is silence.

Break the silence.

Transparency & Right to Rebuttal

This publication is committed to accuracy and fairness.

Prior to publication, notification was sent to all individuals and entities named in this article:

• Jerry Creel — Building Official, Code Enforcement Director, Historic Preservation Director, Community Development Director, Secretary to Board of Adjustments and Appeals
• Peter Abide — City Attorney, Currie Johnson & Myers, P.A.
• Michael Whitehead — Attorney, Currie Johnson & Myers, P.A.
• Tim Holleman — Attorney
• Brooke Vanover — Deputy Clerk of Court
• Jennifer Polk — Building Department Staff
• Mayor Andrew Gilich — City of Biloxi
• City of Biloxi — Office of the City Clerk

Each was invited to provide a response, correction, or rebuttal to any factual assertion contained herein. Any response received will be published in full, unedited, as a dated and signed letter—given the same prominence as the original article.

As of publication, no response has been received.

The offer remains open. If any named party believes any statement in this article is inaccurate, they are invited to submit a signed, sworn statement identifying the specific inaccuracy and providing documentary evidence of the correct information.

The undersigned welcomes the opportunity to be proven wrong. The undersigned welcomes a defamation lawsuit even more—discovery in such a proceeding would be illuminating for all parties.

Silence is also a response. The record will reflect it.