KATIE HOPKINS slams Mariah Carey is a glitter-covered, camel-toed diva

I consider myself to be bit like Obama when it comes to famous faces getting dragged on Twitter.

I have a red line. And even when you cross it, I'm inclined to do nothing. If you put yourself out there, expect to take some incoming fire.

When Twitter goes low, I go high. Or I go and find something more interesting to do instead.

But if there is one thing I will not tolerate it is ordinary people dissing the Porn Queen of Pop, Mariah Carey.

One thing I will not tolerate is ordinary people dissing the Porn Queen of Pop Mariah Carey. Mere mortals like us would have run off stage crying, sweating from the buttocks at the humiliation of what happened to her New Year's Eve - but not my Mariah

My ultimate ambition is to have a bath with her and see how many plastic ducks I can balance on her inflatable assets. Like bath jenga, but with lovely boobs.

OK, so she completely stuffed up her performance on NYE in Times Square. Her ears weren't working so she couldn't hear herself sing. Or sing. Or hear herself singing well enough to be able to sing.

Her critics were harsh. Some said they tried to sing along with Mariah Carey, until they realised even Mariah Carey can't sing along with Mariah Carey. Some blamed the Russians. Even ISIS claimed responsibility for the disaster.

But did she let the fans down? No!

Did she give up? No!

Did she strop off stage in a diva-like huff? No!

Well, yes, but not straight away. And certainly not until she had showered her glitter around Times Square.

Mere mortals like us would have run off stage crying, sweating from the buttocks at the humiliation of it all. But not MC.

Mariah understands a professional singer does not need to sing to be a professional. A true Diva knows better.

Mariah knows what the people want. People who have travelled half the globe to stand in the cold in the center of New York. People expecting a performance.

They want diamantés for nipples, spray-on spandex, and a deep camel-toe cleft in a nude leotard straining at the seams.

And yes, ladies and gentlemen, that is what they got. By the bucket load.

Like a trouper, she hoisted her shiny, 40-denier American Tan tights up under her armpits and got on with the job of entertaining the crowds.

Mariah knows what the people want.  Diamonds. Camel toe.  Like a trouper, she hoisted her shiny, American Tan tights up under her armpits and got on with entertaining the crowds

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Mariah knows. No one wants to see a chipolata in flats with a pixie cut. They want the full sausage, sizzling in heels, wafted with feather boas. And Mariah does stuffed sausage better than the Scots. 

Surplus sausage oozing out the top, more bulging out the bottom. She is America's sausage. She is my sausage. And I love her for it.

I love the way she can go from being rake-thin to the size of an elephant in the space of a week and a half. People say they only have to look at a cake to put on weight. Mariah only has to demand one of her people to look at it for her and she's the size of her tour bus.

Some people suggest she is demanding. But I think this is grossly unfair. She is only demanding in that she demands you accept how demanding she is.

Mariah gave birth to the diva. All Beyonce had to do was borrow her power-leotards and scratch off the sparkles.

Whether it's getting her foof blow-dried by the wings of virgin butterflies or eyelashes remodelled from hairs plucked from the noses of newborn kittens – she knows what she wants and she gets it.

Mariah is America's sausage. She also  knows what she wants and she gets it - unless what she wants is technical help and then all the men around prove to be incompetent 

Unless it is decent technical help on stage. Then men prove to be incompetent.

You might call it first world problems, but as my girlfriend points out; 'we live in the first world. If I lived in the third world I would have other problems. My goat might die. Or I might get Ebola. Or my dad might hate my new bloke and kill me to protect the family's honour. But I live somewhere where I get mad as hell if my grocery delivery isn't quite right. And Mariah has every right to be annoyed if her performance isn't right either.'

I love the way she deals with life.

When a backing dancer got in her way, she shoved her straight off the stage. Tell me you've never thought of pushing a hopeless intern under a bus.

She always wears shades because: 'I have a rule I will not be seen in fluorescent lighting.' She can't wear flats because: 'My feet repel them.' She no longer has birthdays because: 'I rebuke them. I have anniversaries, not birthdays, because I celebrate life, darling.'

She doesn't like people, shaking hands, selfies, fluorescent lighting, flat shoes or photos of half her face. She is a precious gift

She will not shake hands or pose for selfies. And I respect that. Most people have more feces on their phones than their faucets at home.

Mariah Cary knows she is a precious gift to the world and all she needs you to do is share in it.

As long as you share in it from the left side, her best side. She has a phobia about the right side of her face. If she weren't such a stalwart she would be confined to her bed, surrounded by fifty humidifiers to soothe her precious voice and thousands of mirrors — but only on the left side of the room.

Not liking a whole half-side of your face is tough stuff. Like a proper disability.

And if singing were an Olympic sport she'd be the Paralympian who also beat the able-bodied athletes. Because that's the sort of woman she is. Overcoming adversity. In a leotard. Covered in glitter. With her labia shooting the breeze.

As for New Year's Eve and a global humiliation the likes of which would make most of us want to 'get in the sea', permanently, Mariah is over it already.

'Shit happens,' she says. 'Here's to making more headlines in 2017.'

Mariah's response to the nightmare was this. She's over it

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