There was a part of me that hoped none of it would make sense. The tangled mess of corporate and city corruption uncovered by Ron Trosper in the initial half-dozen episodes of The Chair Company seems so outrageous and shaky that it might as well be chalked up to sheer happenstance. An American drug company is sneaking Hungarian opiates into the U.S. through a branch that sells office furniture, then cleaning their tracks with the help of local officials? And our evidence includes, but isn’t limited to, a dissected chair, an invasive bug identified by a dubious exterminator, and matching color palettes between a man’s tattoo and two websites?

These elements drive The Chair Company forward, their implausibility adding to the show’s pull, just as the humor does. But “I Said To My Dog, ‘How Do You Like My Hippie Shirt?'” shows just how fun it is to see Ron vindicated. Suspended from his job and at his wit’s end, he’s determined to investigate every lead—and in doing so, uncovers clue after clue.

This episode is full of delightful callbacks that are woven into the storyline in a gratifying way. Thought the Tamblay’s guy and the loyalty club chat were done for? This episode proves otherwise, and it sparks a rare moment of realization in Ron. Seemingly trivial characters like constantly grumpy Oliver Probblo and the party-loving class? They return with a perfectly timed, utterly zany phone call. Even a minor detail like the bug in Ron’s phone is explained: the exterminators discovered that the rare bugs are drawn to heat sources, like “a phone with too many tabs open.”

It’s clever to have all the pieces fall into place just when Ron feels most defeated. “I Said To My Dog” cuts swiftly from Ron’s joyful recollection of a room filled with chairs to a reminder that he had recently shoved his boss. It’s so like Ron to try to cover up this major gaffe by adopting a dog while everyone else is asleep; it’s so like The Chair Company for that same dog to immediately ingest rat poison and bite its new owner.

Barb’s complex response to these events is a highlight of the show: She’s understandably upset about the stress Ron’s impulsive actions (he’s just a bit suspended from work) put on her and their business, Everpump. Yet, she shows compassion as Ron panics about his injury. This scene not only gives Lake Bell more screentime but also underscores the dynamics of Barb and Ron’s relationship. Despite their troubles and Ron’s obsessive tendencies, their love endures, evident as Barb hunts down antibiotics for him when he can’t find his wound cream.

This gives Ron something significant to lose when he finally dives deep into the conspiracy. I wore a grin similar to Ron’s episode-six smile during the frantic chase across Delaware City—especially when mini I Think You Should Leave sketches erupted in the adult store and within Tamblay’s group texts. The brilliance of “I Said To My Dog” emerges with the reveal that the investor set to make Everpump a reality is also the brain behind the Tecca plot. While Ron was eager to leave Alice’s party to follow the corrupt mayor with Mike, he discovers that their real target had been schmoozing him with drinks and snacks all evening.

The confrontation between Alice and Ron is as typical as the show gets. It’s a criminal mastermind playing with a hero who’s this close to blowing the lid off the scheme—only the hero’s comeback includes a clumsily phrased defense of the sweet old lady caught up in the chair-smuggling operation. It’s moments like these, or the introduction and return of the “pepper patty balls” guy, that help “I Said To My Dog” bring the entire Chair Company narrative into focus: While the series defies easy classification, at its core, it’s a parody of styles—akin to attempting a Police Squad! influenced by Fincher, Lynch, and The Onion rather than Quinn Martin and MAD magazine. The series adeptly speaks the language of thrillers, with its genuine commitment to the genre evident as it weaves together its various absurd threads this week. Amidst this solid framework, there’s room for more than just humor; the narrative explores the depths of conspiracy theories and the bizarre yet intriguing scenes that arise, like a citizen pestering the mayor to use his hot tub, Natalie explaining her “ham delivery” deception, and the feud between the Romance Depot clerk and a customer he accuses of lacking genuine porn enthusiasm.

Random Observations

• • It’s somewhat disappointing that the climax of season one lacks any fresh scenes with the Fisher Robay team—but keeping Ron away from the office simplifies the storyline.
• • Whether the Wendy’s mentions are sponsored content or not, they add a nice touch of Midwestern authenticity to Tara’s principal client, an Ohio-based burger joint. (And, have you heard? They might not be introducing a ham product, but they could start serving ham at a new upscale version called Wendy’s Carvers. It’s like a fancier Wendy’s named Carvers, which features ham on the menu.)
• • The final word from the frustrated Tamblay’s patron fits perfectly within the Chair Company/I Think You Should Leave world, and it neatly caps Ron’s revelation about interchangeable parts with: “They made me think I could wish things into existence.”