Garbage Theory

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Benjamin Hewitt

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The Prime Minister David Cameron and his wife, Samantha, aborted their half-reptilian baby after six months. The human-half belonged to one of the waiters at the Coach House in Chipping Norton.

The Camerons disappeared after it went public a month later in December 2015, apparently because of backlash from members of The Party, or Christian shame, or something.

I know for a fact that they are dead.

Soon after, in February 2016, Princess Beatrice and Princess Eugenie (of York) both had abortions, more or less at the same time, also due to cross-breeding with humans. No evidence has surfaced yet, which is why I have to tell my story – while I can. There will definitely be others, whether we hear about it or not.

Then the trouble will start. The human race is fucked.

Here me out. Try to keep up.


Most Reptilians live under the earth’s surface, but some are selected to shape-shift into prominent world figures – Prime Ministers, Monarchs, Lords and Ladies, the richest 1% – and together they are creating a New World Order.

In the Reptilian species, cross-breeding with humans is punishable by death. When the baby is a ‘pure’ breed, Reptilians will lay eggs, behind closed doors. Kate Middleton’s pregnant belly was actually a giant egg in her womb. Two to three days after birth, the little lizard is able to shape-shift into a human baby.

The private doctor who performed the Camerons’ abortion covertly took scans of the cross-breed reptile and sold them for a high six-figure sum to the Daily Mail. He was fired, but collected himself a nice little retirement fund. A host of medical experts have confirmed the scans’ authenticity.

You can clearly see the scales on the babies back, the forked tongue arching out of its mouth, the reptile eyes.

David Icke has told me the Camerons would have avoided getting scans of the baby as it developed, and that only at around six months would they have realised there was no egg.

Me and millions of other Britains now know the truth. Soon I’ll disappear, and all the old staff from the Coach House in Chipping Norton, where I was a waitress, will be next. But the Sheeple must know.


Back in June 2015, the manager at the Coach House gathered all the front of house staff in a room, and told us that the Camerons would be arriving to eat in half an hour. He wanted us to put the fancy seat covers on their chairs, and the silver tableware out.

The busser was the first of our minimum wage, zero-hour contract entourage to suggest we give the Prime Minister some ‘Surplus Value’ with their meal.

I put their silver cutlery in a bucket and, squatting in the alley behind the kitchen, pissed on it after drinking a litre of water. I swilled it around and dried it off.

The three waiters ejaculated onto a cushion each, two minutes before they were placed on the chairs. Their semen was camouflaged perfectly against the milky white covers. They said they got the idea from watching Fight Club.

The Camerons didn’t notice, or if they did, they didn’t say anything. We assumed the semen had dried off by the time they sat down, and that the piss stench was overpowered by the smell from their lobster.

That night we swore between us that any and every member of the Chipping Norton Set, or anybody like them, would get the same service.

In September the Princesses came in, surrounded by various non-royal acquaintances. I thought of their smug benefit scrounging faces as I downed my litre of water. I don’t know what the waiters thought of when they pulled themselves off next to me.

Princess Beatrice complained to the manager about the wet seat covers, but nothing came of it.

The last people we did it to were Elisabeth Murdoch and Matthew Freud. This was in about November 2015, six months into Samantha Cameron’s pregnancy. We hadn’t figured out the connection yet.

Murdoch complained too, but this time the couple recognised that it was semen they had sat on. They spat in the face of the manager and stormed out. The police were called.

The restaurant got closed down the same week. We all got sent to equally miserable lives on the dole.

Murdoch must have warned the Camerons at this point, which contributed to the first abortion.

Right before it went public, one of the waiters, Alan, asked all the old front of house staff out for a drink. I thought it would be nice to see what everyone’s plans were after the closing, so I went. When we got to the bar, Alan looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

He told us his prediction for the Camerons’ pregnancy. He had bought me and the others tickets to an event the next day at Wembley stadium, where conspiracy theorist David Icke was giving a speech. In the end me and him were the only ones who went. The others thought he was crazy.

The waiter had been writing to Icke and we met with him afterwards. In a flurry of strange hand gestures and wide eyes, they both explained to me for two hours everything they thought I needed to know: how easily Reptilians can be impregnated by human sperm and how permeable their skin is, their strict laws and customs, their need for human blood to continue thriving. They discussed ways for us to avoid detection if we all had to go into hiding.


Since February 2016 I’ve been living in a hotel. Millions of people are believers now, and it’s growing. Everyone’s nervous. I haven’t heard from Alan, but Icke has been calling me a lot. His ramblings have only gotten more disjointed since we first talked at Wembley. I feel like I have to listen to everything he says, to protect myself.

I will run out of money in about two weeks and I don’t know what I’ll do if I’m still alive by then. Icke said I can live with him.

I’ve thought about killing myself, in some humane way that will be better than whatever the Reptilians will do to me, when they start to pick off the Coach House staff for impregnating their females.

Until now I didn’t understand how the Camerons could have been so stupid, to get found out. Icke tells me they did it intentionally, sacrificed themselves, so as to slowly reveal the Reptilians’ existence and allow them to more openly harvest our race for blood.

This hotel room is so dusty and oppressive.

Icke did a talk a few days ago that was broadcast on BBC1, primetime. He’s become something of a messiah. He was on the phone to me beforehand telling me about ‘garbage theory’, the idea that life on earth developed from waste products dumped here by aliens millions of years ago. It’s making me feel a bit better about things.

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