The Tale of Lord Marion Belesky

Allow me to paint you a scene. I will not utilize paint or wax, but rather words. Imagine a two-story house, built of faded, worn wooden planks and scratched black paint. Cracked stained glass windows adorn much of the front, crossed by thin iron supports and proudly displaying proud saints and figures in faded colors. The front yard is overgrown, weeds and rampant grass having taken over and covered the remains of a once magnificent water fountain. A single giant oak stands off to the left, shaking ominously in the wind and tickling the sides of the house with its too-long branches. The cobbled pathway to the front door is riddled with wild plants, and there are several gaping holes where an errant foot had kicked a loose stone out.

When the house had been built eighty years prior, it was a beautiful, unique structure. The owner of the estate was a man who called himself Lord Marion Belesky, and he was even more grand then the house he had built for himself. The wooden planks were freshly cut and evenly painted in deep, dark colors. The stained glass windows were whole and marvelous, and the front yard was a garden, carefully tended by a whole team of landscapers. The water fountain spouted graceful white arcs, which landed with a resounding splash in a wide pool of crystal clear water. The cobbled pathway was flawless and a spotless, soft white. At any hour of the day, you could stand in front of the house and observe two things: the upstairs lights are not on; and the downstairs lights are on. People were always coming and going, and in the background there was a perpetual noise, hinting at an eternal party or event within those ancient walls. If you had walked that cobblestone path, you would've been met by a resplendent doorman in bright colors, bowing stiffly and taking your coat with white-gloved hands. The servant would've led you through the dark, gorgeous wooden door and golden knocker in the shape of a vicious lion, and showed you to a grand banquet hall. The banquet hall was floored with a caramel colored marble, with dark veins of color running through it. The walls were the finest mahogany, sandalwood, and black wood,  with solid gold lamp fixtures and a chandelier that comprised of thousands of diamonds and other precious stones. There was a table large enough to seat a hundred, built entirely of mahogany and stained a deep red. The carpets were the softest animal fur, and even his boots were exotic leather from the plains of Africa.

You see, Lord Marion Belesky had made his fortune at a young age, inherited from his parents. They had made their fortune from a combination of inheritance and from owning a massive corporation specializing in providing protection for international trade. When Lord Marion Belesky's parents died of mysterious causes, he immediately sold the company and instantaneously became one of the richest men in the world. Lord Marion Belesky built himself a mansion of unnecessary proportions, adorning it with the finest furniture and enhancements. Knowing that he would never have to work again, Lord Marion Belesky (for the sake of simplicity, we shall simply call him "Lord Belesky") started the world's longest lasting party. Lord Belesky opened his doors to anyone dressed finely enough to attend his party, and ordered his large team of servants and cooks to prepare the table and start cooking food.

Every hour of every day, the table was filled with trays of food and beakers of drinks. The chairs were filled with laughing, gleeful party-goers of all ages and sizes. Dozens of cooks worked all day to provide any number of smoked, barbecued, grilled, or baked meats, accented by scores of entrees and appetizers. An entire roast pig sat on a massive platter, next to a tray of perfectly cut tarts adorned by caramelized peaches. A pot filled with baked beans and bacon sat beside a half dozen beakers of different varieties of alcohol and liquor. There wasn't two of anything, and the entire table was covered in a variety of food.

If you weren't too busy gorging yourself on food, you might notice that an entire end of the table was taken up by a single man, wider in girth than a pregnant horse. His skin was pale and caked in a layer of sweat, and his thinning, brown hair was plastered to his forehead. This gargantuan's eyes were small and beady, like black pebbles staring out from deeply inset sockets. Rolls of fat formed several chins, which disappeared underneath a too-tight shirt that stretched at the seams. His grubby, greasy hands greedily brought food to his mouth nonstop, shoving it into his mouth with a hungry growl. You would be right to be disgusted by the sight of this monstrosity, and you would be right if you assumed the identity of this man to be Lord Belesky himself. Once a short, skinny individual, Lord Belesky had transformed himself through days of nonstop eating and minimal movement. The entirety of the second story of his beautiful house was unused, as his legs were wider than they were tall. The faithful who attended his party did well to ignore his presence, choosing instead to focus on eating their food. Those unfortunate enough to sit too close to him quickly lost their appetite after witnessing his gruesome consumption of the closest food, constantly restocked by a stream of tired servants. Attempting to talk to him lead to garbled speech and rowdy laughter before he quickly lost interest and returned to his food.

Few would dare to confront him about his unhealthy habits, especially in light of Lord Belesky's tendency to provide enough fine food for an entire town to feast on, provided your clothes were "high-class" enough. That being said, no one was particularly surprised when one day his disgusting grunts and noises were suddenly cut off. Noticing the sudden absence of light, the entire party halted and turned to watch Lord Belesky. His mouth was open, his body being wrought by horrific spasms. His right hand gripped his left arm in a painful grip, and he toppled off of his chair. The house shook, causing one of the men who had risen to help Lord Belesky to tumble down on top of him. When the man pushed himself up, he found that he was leaning on a dead man. He quickly scrambled away, gasping in shock. In the background, several ladies screamed in terror, one fainting.

Yet, that was the end of the chaos. Despite the fact that a dead man was lying on the floor, several people continued eating. Despite the fact that this dead man had been providing the food that they were eating, the majority of people saw no issue in continuing the party. Lord Belesky's show of kindness and charitable goodness were doing him no good, as his kindness killed him and brought him no kindness from the people he had shown it to. Eventually, the part-goers left, leaving his body behind. At some point during the week a group of men with scarfs tied around their noses to block the stench tore a hole in one of the walls and carted Lord Belesky's corpse to the nearest cemetery, loading it into the back of a cart. A week later, the house was considerably empty of its luxuries, having been looted by neighbors and common folk alike. And a week after that, the house was completely abandoned, only to be whispered about by passerby.

Allow me to paint you a scene. I will not utilize paint or wax, but rather words. There is a house in downtown London, built by a man who called himself Lord Marion Belesky. He was quite possibly a murderer, and most definitely a brilliant business man. Lord Marion Belesky decided that, after acquiring this mountain of wealth, he would use it to feed whoever would attend. Lord Marion Belesky decided that, after throwing a party that would go on for weeks, that he loved the food that he was buying more than the money he was using to buy it. The people who attended this party decided that Lord Marion Belesky was a good man for throwing this party. The people who attended this party also decided that they loved the food more than the loved the man who was buying it. And that, my friends, is the tale of Lord Marion Belesky.