And he’s like, You racist motherfucker! I’m riding across Harvard Square on my giant tricycle and I’m waiting for your call — because don’t you even think that Henry Louis Gates Jr. is going to call you; you call me, cracker — and now I’m thinking to myself, Has this crazy-ass ofay totally lost his goddamn mind? I mean really! Have you seen your board of directors lately? Or your management team? Noticed anything unusual about it? Like, perhaps, a certain sameness? Has it occurred to you that you might take steps to address this egregious situation? When I read about Schmidt this morning I figured it’s a slam dunk that I’m going to be getting the call. I’ve even prepared my list of demands: housing allowance, transportation, a public apology and a promise to attend sensitivity classes. Well, white devil, I certainly hope that you are just very busy this morning. But I’m warning you: I will not be toyed with. You have until the end of the day. If I haven’t heard from you by then, I’m going nuclear. I’ll call the New York Times and I’ll unleash a “teaching moment” on your ass. I swear to God I’ll do it, and you know I’m not bluffing. Your call.