Being a PR flack isn't easy. Much of the job revolves around using Exacto knives to perfectly clip Us Weekly articles for EPKs without slitting your own wrists, shuttling celebrities from point A to point B (point A being the top of the red carpet, point B being 3 feet down the red carpet), and staying out of the camera's watchful eye themselves, all while subsisting on a diet of Diet Coke and Parliament Lights. It's no wonder most publicists have got one hell of a bitchy resting face.