"As I expected, it's an amusing caricature, only occasionally true but hardly insightful. Still, I'm relieved that The New Yorker didn't lay a glove on me. I found Tad Friend, who covers Hollywood from Brooklyn, easy to manipulate, as was David Remnick, whom I enjoyed bitchslapping throughout but especially during the very slipshod factchecking process. New Yorker logo(Those draconian Conde Nast budget cuts have deflated the infamous hubris of this New Jersey dentist's son.) But I wasn't the only one able to knock out a lot of negative stuff in the article without even one lawyer letter, email, or phone call. I witnessed how The New Yorker really bent over for Hollywood. NYC power publicist Steven Rubenstein succeeded in deleting every reference to Paramount's Brad Grey. Warner Bros and Universal and DreamWorks and William Morris/Endeavor and Summit Entertainment execs and flacks and consultants also had their way with the mag. (They were even laughing about it. When I asked one PR person what it took to convince Tad to take out whole portions of the article, the response was, "I swallowed.") At Harvey Weinstein's personal behest, his description of me as a "cunt" became "jerk". (Then the article would have contained two references to me as a "cunt" in addition to its four uses of "fuck". Si Newhouse must be so proud…) And so on. Now remember, readers: you, too, can make The New Yorker your buttboy. Just act like a cunt and treat Remnick like a putz and don't give a fuck."

— See, it doesn't matter that she's not humble, what matters is that she's brutally honest.

But, I see your point. I'd hate to be the one on the receiving end of her shoddy manners.

reality tv cliche to the rescue. also, theplaylist isn't exactly known for its charm, either.