In a brilliant, brilliant, brilliant re-imagining of Chekhov's much ballyhooed dramatic structure, in which the gun in last week's fourth act goes off in this week's first, we fade about halfway in (because Washington State is synonymous with "Arctic Circle" to a writer's room located in the middle of the desert, I suppose) on the face of Allegorical Pawn #2, eyes and mouth open in shock. His head is still surrounded by the giant chess piece that encases him, the chess piece still standing in the middle of the gazebo. Because Chekhov's theory for what constitutes "drama" certainly wouldn't have failed to mention the spine-tingling conventions of "chess" and "gazebo." Anyway. A team of law-enforcing personnel far larger than we're used to seeing grace the halls of the police station attends to the body because, well, I guess nothing says "sign me up for the TPPD" like "dead urchin in a chess piece." With great effort, they hoist said piece up on their collective shoulders and carry it like pallbearers at some kind of fucked-up Bobby Fischer Theme Funeral down the steps of said gazebo.

The "ruzza ruzza" of "carrying it carefully" and "not moving too fast" ensues from the gazebo and right past Cooper, Truman, and Hawk in the process of questioning a short, pasty, rather distraught-looking "The Next Giovanni Ribisi," who intones "oh, man" because the ratio of short and pasty actors getting acting jobs in the next ten years or so is roughly equivalent to "one Giovanni Ribisi per one Hollywood." Sorry, squirt. I guess you're out of luck. But for now he'll shine, wearing his backward red baseball cap and a shirt with a skull on it and an acid-washed denim jacket because he's bad, man, as he forlornly asks Cooper, "Rusty?" Ribisi exposits that Rusty "got [him] in with the band." He's a roadie. So I guess last week's Stryper comparisons weren't really that far off base after all. And here's me, getting so weak-kneed in the presence of fame! Truman asks what they were doing in Twin Peaks, and Ribisi explains, "We were supposed to play a gig in Knife River, but a tire on the van crapped out." Cooper takes it from there: "And then you met someone." Ribisi returns the volley, explicating that a guy came out of the woods "like Big Foot or something," and Rusty went with him for the aforementioned beer Rusty wanted so badly. That sucks. What a shitty way to die. But it will provide just the necessary "when it all came crashing down" moment for Rusty And The Big Foot's Behind the Music, in which the poor, fun-loving fellow who just wanted to play in a band was ultimately done in by the final few episodes of Twin Peaks. He wouldn't be the only one killed by such a scourge, of this I assure you. Either way, Truman informs Ribisi, "We'll have to get in touch with Rusty's parents," providing the necessary catalyst for Ribisi to become sad because, well, "Rusty hated his parents. He's staying with his uncle in Moses Lake." God. Way to flip from the "K" (Knife River) to the "M" section of The Yokel's Guide To Rustic Winnebago Travel Through The Hastily Named Pacific Northwest, Volume Fifty, Ribisi. And so he continues, "We were gonna move. We were gonna move to LA." Ribisi starts to cry. Andy starts to cry. You guys think this was sad? You should have been there for the scene where the dude loses his arm and thinks he'll never drum again. Not a chess piece in sight, but I assure you it's dramatic as all get out.