From time to time someone suggests that I be a guest on the show and describe my own person, place, and thing. I reply, maybe in season ten, my euphemism for never. Then I smile and add, sure, if we’re confined to our homes by a horrible pandemic exacerbated by a criminally incompetent White House and can’t have real guests do live shows. Well, it’s come to that. The hunter becomes the hunted. The fish becomes the chips. Or something.