Her farewell to the newspaper business.

I'm sure I'm not alone in thinking that Anita Busch's life would make for an excellent His Girl Fridayish black comedy. (Obviously, anything that aims for the level of HGF is bound to fall short, but I needed a reference point.)
In a nutshell, Busch worked for nearly a decade in Los Angeles as an entertainment journalist, cultivating a rep for being difficult and ruthless. She abruptly ended her career when an investigation into Steven Seagal's alleged mob connections resulted in a death threat that no one took very seriously. (The threat: her car windshield was smashed, a note which read "STOP" placed next to the shatter, and package containing a fish and a rose was dropped in her car.) People doubted the veracity of the story (largely because it seemed too cinematic to be true) and Busch dropped out of sight. Busch's story was legitimized this past week, when the Los Angeles D.A. charged Anthony Pellicano, "Private Investigator to the Stars," with conspiracy/threatening Busch.
C'mon, how great is that? As if the overview isn't perfect, Nikki Finke has a piece on Busch in this week's LA Weekly and drops personal tidbits like this:

Typical is this anecdote from a new employee at Variety who on his first day tried to introduce himself. “I didn’t know she was on the phone. I walk up to her and say, ‘Hi, I’m . . . ’ And just as I’m about to say my name, she starts shouting, ‘Oh yeah? Well, fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.’ Every time she says ‘Fuck you,’ she is slamming her headset on the desk. She flings it away and it breaks into 20 pieces. She puts her hand out and says, ‘Hi, I’m Anita.’”

Perfecto methinks.