The Crackhead of Code Enforcement — Part 01

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Dear reader, good morning.

The day is March 3rd, 2026. It is Tuesday. The days feel like rebel spirit.

City Council is tonight — where they will vote to increase the salary of Jerry Creel, the mediocre Building Official who "officially" committed perjury, fucked the head of HR at City Hall, and is involved in all kinds of corrupt things we've been reporting. Apparently he deserves a raise — initiated by the Biden of Biloxi. Well, he's a good puppet to the carpet potato throat geezer.

We will be there tonight putting a few documents on the record and calling them names to their faces. Make sure to attend if you can.

But first — the undersigned has been going through emails.

Old ones. The kind that start sweet and end in federal court.

Today we talk about Tara Busby.

Code Enforcement Administrator for the City of Biloxi. Named federal defendant. She is part of the "advantageous" — a clerk of court, part of the star chamber of Jerry Creel, the motherfucker that thinks he's someone, along with the mayor — a corpse — and Peter Abide, the tallest smallest man on the Coast.

The woman who brought armed police to deliver a piece of paper to a residential property — and then came back for more while the homeowner was on an operating table in California.

A macho looking lady that looks like life hasn't been too kind in many ways.

You know how some people drive a car on low pressure air — and while the tire isn't that old visually, it's at the same time deprecated and in bad condition? That's how I would describe Tara Busby in a game of Secret Santa — you know, the one where you describe the person without saying their name and everyone guesses.

The outside says "city employee." The inside says "barely holding it together."

The kind of person who looks like code enforcement found her, not the other way around.

Upon a quick investigation into Tara Busby, you quickly start to see why she looks like leather forgotten in the sun. She's a single mom living a life that is the pure child of "incompetence" — bad decisions dressed with crack.

If you saw Tara Busby on the street, you would not guess she works for the government. You would guess she needs government assistance. The kind of face that says "I've seen things" — and not in a worldly, sophisticated way. More in a "the gas station bathroom at 3 AM" way.

The kind of person you'd hide your copper cable deep into the wall from — because if it's exposed, she's coming back at night to strip it and sell it for crack.

But here she is.

Code Enforcement Manager, working under small-wiener Creel — the hat of Development Director. Armed with a badge, a city email address, and the full weight of the Biloxi Police Department — to deliver one sheet of paper to a pool deck that was already finished.

Let's talk about how Tara went from "Let me know if you need anything!" to federal defendant in less than two years.

October 2023: "You Are the Best"

On October 12, 2023, the undersigned received an email from Tara Busby. It was friendly. Professional. The kind of email a competent city employee sends when they're trying to help.

Contractor list. Exclamation points. A smiley disposition — at least over email, where you can't see her face.

The undersigned responded the same day:

"Tara! Thank you so much, you are the best."

That was October 2023. Tara Busby was helpful. She was the friendly face of code enforcement. She sent spreadsheets. She signed off with her cell phone number.

She was the best.

But here's the thing. That one email wasn't the whole story.

The undersigned owns several properties in Biloxi — including multifamilies and a trailer park — and has had several interactions with Tara Busby over the years. When she was not a crackhead acting whore, it was cordial. It was cooperative. She would call, explain what the issue was, we would commit to execute, and we did. She would check it. We liked each other. This went on for years.

That's what makes what came next so telling.

This wasn't a stranger showing up with a grudge. This was someone who knew the undersigned — who not only had our cellphone, but had extensively texted, called, interacted in writing, spoken and in person. Not once. Not twice. Not thrice. But at the dozens count.

Someone who had a working relationship. Someone who chose to destroy it — on orders.

Twenty months later, she would bring guns.

June 30, 2025: The Armed Delivery

A lot of people have been curious — and have questions on why and how this situation escalated and People vs Biloxi actually exists.

Today, like before, we shall travel in time.

Dear reader, the undersigned knows you are a groupie when it comes to time travel with us. While it's not a whole adventure like we've done to the Strip, we will hop in on to June 30, 2025 for a few minutes.

You know the drill. Hold tight.

Here we are, dear reader. We arrived.

This is Beach Boulevard.

Come, dear reader — give me your hand. Let's go up this sand dune — careful, you need to be careful or you will fall. Ask me how I fucking know.

Let's look at the sea. The sun is out. The day is clear. That's the Gulf. The breeze is nice. The sand is white.

While these dunes are artificial, look how pretty they are — there's vegetation on them, sea oats swaying. There's no one at the beach. It's peaceful.

You look left and see the casinos to the far west along Beach Boulevard. You look to the right and you see restaurants.

There's something about the Gulf sea that evokes emotions and brings perspective.

A point of curiosity, dear reader — turn around and look north across Highway 90. That's Miramar Park, so you can locate yourself. This is the lowest point in Biloxi relative to the sea. This location is unique in many ways.

The undersigned conducts research in a few topics — related to our work is fluid dynamics and electrodynamics, which are fancy terms you put on a business card to impress that gal at the bar while you try to hide the fact you are a nerd. We play with water and study electricity in its various ways.

The undersigned throughout its life has had the pleasure of living in many interesting places across Europe, several years in different parts of Asia, Central America, and multiple places in America. We are no stranger to the sea. We lived in Hong Kong for many years in an oceanfront apartment, in Panama City, and ten years of ownership of a beachfront condo in Key Biscayne — Brickell, Miami, to those that know the area.

We've seen water, and lived by it most of our lives. But this place is unique. And we have the privilege of observing and documenting a myriad of phenomena.

Look to the left. That's our badass house. Why did I build it so tall, you ask, dear reader? Well, I will ask you another question — have you ever seen an eagle walking the ground? Exactly.

Come, dear reader. Let's cross the highway.

There's the deck staircase — it's floating, it's badass. Let's go up and see the beach from it. Let's go.

Look at this view, dear reader. Our deck sits 24 feet from grade. It's an observation point. It's a privilege, ain't it?

It's like looking at a painting — except the painting breathes, and moves, and changes every hour.

Due to our location and position, we get to see all kinds of incredible phenomena.

We have seen — several times — waterspouts, those vortex columns where the sea lifts into the sky, spinning funnels of mist and fury connecting the Gulf to the clouds. It's not uncommon here. They are impressive. We have seen them form, travel, and dissipate right from this deck.

The tide changes are another show — the Gulf pulls back and pushes forward, and from up here we get to see all of it.

The sunrise is a show. The sun climbs out of the Gulf like it's being born every morning — first a thin red line on the horizon, then the whole sky ignites.

But the sunset — the sunset is something else. A mixture of so many tones of orange you didn't know existed — burnt amber, tangerine, coral, peach — layered across the sky like God couldn't pick one and used them all.

And at night, dear reader, we have often seen a green aurora — not the Northern Lights, but airglow, a photochemical luminescence where oxygen molecules in the upper atmosphere release stored solar energy as a faint emerald shimmer across the horizon.

Most people never notice it. From 24 feet up, with no light pollution over the Gulf, it's unmistakable.

We have seen linear cloud formations stretching along the curvature of the coast — long parallel bands running southeast toward the horizon, tracing the boundary where warm Gulf air meets cooler continental currents.

The air here is charged. Highly ionic — the salt spray, the UV exposure, the temperature differential between the warm shallow water and the land. We are in a high-velocity zone where sea breeze and land breeze trade shifts like factory workers.

This place is alive. The water table is high. The soil is highly rich. And as a researcher, I can honestly say — the most interesting and unique place I have been, much less lived in, when it comes to this topic.

But look at the time.

They are almost here.

Let's head inside — I'll make you a quick espresso.

Careful when getting inside, dear reader. As soon as I open the door, make sure to enter quickly — you can see Grey through the glass door.

Grey is our beloved cockatiel. He loves people and will come greet you. We don't want him to escape.

The house is two floors. As we enter — this is the living room. There's the kitchen. Down the hall we have the elevator — yes, an elevator. In front, our then-wife's office — she's an electrical engineer and wired this house herself, personally.

Laundry. A guest room. This is the ground floor.

But what comes next happens upstairs.

Here's your espresso, dear reader. Come up.

On the second floor we have the master suite — that faces the beach. Another two rooms. And by the elevator, our office — that faces Miramar Park.

Here's me, sitting in my chair. Look at those shoulders, dear reader. That's not someone you ask if they even lift. You just know — and you hide your girl.

And what's that on my shoulder? That's White — our beautiful female cockatiel. Same as Grey, they're cockatiels — they're from Australia. Look at their colors. They are themselves pieces of art.

She's completely different from Grey. She's an introvert, and the most docile creature you will ever meet. She is the embodiment of peace.

And there, close to me, is our ex-wife — she's organizing some papers. She loves to watch the kids playing at Miramar Park from the office window. She does that very often.

At that point in time, she was getting prepared to have her own.

This is our badass house.

The day is June 30, 2025. Look at the clock — 3:25 PM.

Here's where the show starts, dear reader.

Let's see how it unfolds.

She's there, looking out the window. Kids are playing at the park.

3:30 PM.

She drops the papers on the table and approaches the window. She's seeing something develop.

Let's join her.

First — a City of Biloxi code enforcement car parks in front of Miramar Park.

No one leaves.

Seconds later, the first police truck arrives — parks face to face with her car, like if they had crashed into each other.

Then comes another one from the tracks direction and parks there as well.

You see commotion. People at the park stop to see what is developing.

Two people leave the city car. You see an old-looking whore — blonde — and a sassy-looking fella. That's Tara Busby and Kyle Illing.

The cops get out. One is a young Black lady, and a chubby young white guy. Let's keep their names private at this moment — after looking into it, these two did not know what they were doing.

Now watch this old-looking tramp walking over.

They just got to the driveway — that is our property. That's trespassing.

They walk 150 feet and pass the palm tree. There — you see it, dear reader? That's the permit box. Where you place permits, stop work orders, and things of that nature.

They turn left. They are now under the house.

We can no longer see them — they are beneath us.

But take a second and look at the ex-wife.

She's trembling. She's crying.

See how she quickly grabs White from my shoulder — Grey too — and is hugging them.

And now, dear reader, pay attention to the next steps.

Here — the undersigned is still sitting. Somewhat relaxed, but with a very serious look on his face. That's the face of someone who knew that a line had been crossed.

Look how he observes her panic. Then tells her to calm down.

She's telling him she will be hiding in the guest room with the birds.

And she asks —

"Are we getting arrested?"

— as she saw them coming with armed cops holding guns and holding a bunch of papers.

Here, dear reader — look at the email we sent the next day to the piece of shit called Peter Abide, a corrupt lawyer that thinks he's someone.

He — along with the shemale lover Fofo Gilich, the Biden of Biloxi — directed the stop work order. Per Creel's own sworn testimony at the November 7 hearing:

"I was directed by the mayor and the city attorney."

Yes — these two old men, especially Fofo, who can't literally even talk anymore, directed the events of this day. Dixie mafia sassy old men.

There — see — I started moving.

We are heading to the first floor. We leave the house. We get down the first flight of stairs —

And there, leading the party, the whore-looking tramp Tara Busby.

Her wrinkles and skin show her mediocrity, but her smile shows she's enjoying it.

We filmed it. But because this is part of a criminal investigation, we will only release the footage later.

Here's the tramp — holding the stop work order, along with the officers and Kyle Illing.

This is Part 01.

What happens next — the confrontation, the stop work order, the refusal to examine surveys, the excavator seizure, the surgery surveillance, the horn harassment, the conspiracy, the tortious interference, and how "that crackhead looking inspector" ended up in the federal court record filed by the defense —

All of that is in Part 02.

For now, dear reader, remember this image.

An armed police officer. A blonde woman in a green city polo. A sassy code enforcement officer. Walking up the stairs of a private home. To deliver one piece of paper.

For a pool deck that was already finished.

And upstairs — a wife trembling with two cockatiels in her arms, asking if they're being arrested.

That's your City of Biloxi.

Legal Disclaimer: This article documents public proceedings, public records, and constitutional analysis. All facts are derived from federal court filings (ECF 40, 42, 44, 79, 105, 107, 129 — Cases 178 and 233), email correspondence produced in litigation, sworn deposition testimony, and photographic exhibits filed with the Court. Public officials acting in their official capacity are proper subjects of public commentary. Commentary regarding appearance is protected opinion under the First Amendment as interpreted in Hustler Magazine, Inc. v. Falwell, 485 U.S. 46 (1988). Tara Busby is a named defendant in two active federal civil rights cases in the Southern District of Mississippi.

Documents Referenced: ECF 40, 42, 44 (Case 233 — Motions to Dismiss) · ECF 79, 105, 107, 129 (Case 178 — various filings) · Exhibit W (armed delivery photograph) · Second Amended Complaint, Case 233 · Email correspondence: Oct 12, 2023 (contractor list) · Jul 1, 2025 (email to Peter Abide) · Sworn testimony, November 7, 2025 hearing ("I was directed by the mayor and the city attorney")