Katie Hopkins

I hope she gets a bad rating on Uber.

RichG
i hope she steps on some lego while barefoot

FUCK THAT. A stickle brick®.

I hope she comes downstairs late at night, switches the light on then forgets why she's come downstairs, and goes back to bed feeling ever so slightly emptier and more confused.
Then realises she left the light on on the kitchen.

I hope she misses an ocado delivery.

I hope she wakes up every morning to see slug trails on the living room floor but can never work out where the slugs are coming from.

I hope she makes a cup of tea, but forgets to put the milk back in the fridge and has to throw away most of a 2 pinter after sitting in the sun all day.

I hope she sets her Sky box to record Planet Earth yet when she comes to watch it 3 days later, finds she's actually taped Spurs v Fiorentina in the UEFA Cup

I hope she has a big article about immigration to email to her boss while working from home and her broadband goes down. So she has to walk around the corner to her internet cafe and sit next to someone called Mohammad.

I hope something very unpleasant and permanent happens to her.

Piles?

I hope she buys a pack of "Ready to Eat" avocados, gets home to prepare for a special dinner treat with her family who are all sitting waiting for omega 3 and trans-fat balanced but ethnically appropriate food groups and singing white power anthems before realising that they are harder than a British sex-tourist's penis in an underage Thai brothel.

Her family will stare at her disdainfully whilst chewing their under-endowed pine-nut salad, near silently incanting the mantra of "mum fucked up, with her big stupid conker, mum fucked up, she's a fucking plonker, mum fucked up, she's got no pals, mum fucked up, she's gone halal." Just as they reach this rising climax, the doorbell rings and she rushes to answer it, delighted to escape the scene of her domestic failure. On opening the door she is confronted with none other than a tan-skinned man in sober, smart clothes collecting for disabled veterans in the area and before she can even scream at him to stop trying to con people and that she'll call the polics, he's already proffered his security-marked ID to prove he's legitimate. Barely able to breathe through the fizzing piss rising in her gullet, she throws a sweaty and limp fiver at him that's been clawed from the depths of her girdle-like Fat Face jeans and has slammed the door in a flurry of pashmina and a nose that would make Cyrano de Bergerac's look petite.

Solemnly drifting back to the table she can only think to herself "His ID might have been sound but I bet he's still a filthy terrorist illegal who wanted to alternately rape each of my cavernous nostrils just because they reminded him of some camel's asshole back home. Fuck, that was close-I almost died-I really need to get belmed off my tits on twift tonight."

I hope that this Christmas she pulls a cracker and gets the non-toy end.

I hope she has to stop more than once to tie a shoelace

... and they're wet.

But it's not water.

ooof you have no heart

oh thats harsh, this happened to you icm5£

I hope her minstrels stick to the orange creme in her revels.

Glorious.

I hope people stop paying any attention to her.

Which leads to an awkward situation where someone doesn't notice she is actually sat around in a frilly hat, having a wee, and they shit on her bonnet.

I'm going to have to turn these in to an illustrated book.

I hope her bonnet becomes so laden with shit some drops onto her breakfast ciabatta laden with Nutella.

I hope she forgets to buy her lottery ticket and three of her numbers come up.

I hope she does a poo but doesn't get it all out, resulting in an ungratifying, unclean feeling