Junkyards need dogs

Speaking of which, I laughed out loud on the C train home while reading Mr. Ami’s profile of the terror of Hollywood when I came to this graf in the New Yorker: One corporate publicist says that calls from Finke are usually agreeable, but adds that two out of ten conversations are bad Nikki. He says, It feels like spit is coming through the phone, she’s so angry. Either the trades had something before she did, and she feels you should have told her first, or something happened that she asked you about two months earlier, and you denied it then—when it might not have been true—and she says, You lied to me! You lied to me! You lied to me!

Been there. Heard that. Only the fury was food-related.