Katie Hopkins is a tool – in both senses of the word

Quite a lot of controversy has been caused by Katie Hopkins’ appearance on This Morning this morning.

I find it quite hard to really dislike Katie Hopkins.

Katie and I went to Exeter University together.

I say together, it was me, her and a couple of thousand others. I was drunk and high for the entirety of the eighteen months I lasted before not so much dropping out as floating off, so I don’t know if I ever met her but I did meet lots of people like her.

Since we probably had some friends in common I felt I owed her the decency of doing some wider reading before I branded her a fucking idiot.

After an exhausting period of extensive research I reached the conclusion that Katie Hopkins is a fucking idiot.

She auditioned for Big Brother but only made the sub’s bench. She’s made a habit of running off with increasingly older and richer married men. Her CV includes appearances on The Apprentice, I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here and Loose Women. She has written regularly for the Daily Express and The Exeter Echo, a publication so right wing it makes Mein Kampf look like Das Kapital.

She is a cold, soulless, self-promoting, self-obsessed, dead eyed narcissist.

I was able to find all these facts by using a secret voodoo research technique. I can’t share it with the uninitiated but it begins with “W” and ends with “ikipedia.”

If I was able to work out who and what Katie Hopkins was after two minutes of Googling then you can be darn sure that the producers and researchers of ITV’s flagship mid morning mecca of mediocrity didn’t need  to consult The Bristol Stool Chart  to know exactly what kind of shit she’d come out with.

She’s a low rent, cross eyed Clarkson clone.

That is why she was booked.

To be controversial.

To be a pantomime vilain.

To have the internet frothing at the mouth and calling her the sort of names which she probably thinks welders name their kids.

To make “Uncle Phil” and “Lovely Holly” look like sainted defenders of the working classes.

And it worked.

This morning hasn’t been so talked about since that weather prick tragically didn’t drown in Albert dock.

It couldn’t really fail to work. It was a brilliantly cynical and calculated exploitation of our obsession with the class system.

Nothing tweaks the emotional nipples of Britain’s middle classes, who should be at work, more than watching the upper classes, who should be making sure the middle and working classes are at work, look down on the lower classes. Primarily because looking down on the working classes is the job of the middle classes and if the upper classes insist on doing it then how the hell are the middle classes going to fill the hours they don’t spend wishing they’d married for money rather than love.

As the controversy grows around an incident that happened on a show that airs in a time slot during which anyone with any self respect was either stump grindingly drunk, asleep, at work or, if they were very lucky, stump grindingly drunk, asleep, at work, ITV have everyone dancing to their tune.

I’m not saying you should like Katie Hopkins but this is one of these occasions where, to paraphrase the great philosopher Ice-T you should hate the playa and the game.

Or perhaps ignore the playa and hate the game.

Or perhaps hit the playa over the head with a shovel and show the game that you’re not a simpering half wit puppet to be manipulated, moulded and whipped into a frenzy at the drop of a hat by turning of the telly and reading a book.

It’s your choice of course, but whichever choice you make, I recommend washing it down with a Long Island Iced Tea and a plea of not guilty on grounds of diminished responsibility.

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