The Ron Thread II: Rise of the Ron-D'OHs

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

For those who may need a refresher course on Rononyms (Ron-style synonyms):

**Ron: **a man who tends to believe their own hype and not understand why their logic doesn’t compute with everyone. Usually identified with the addition of Ron to their first name. (Steve-Ron, Jay-Ron, etc.)*See The Ron Thread for examples. *
**Ronette: **a female Ron.
Ron-duh: Someone who dates or puts up with a Ron.
**Ronulian: **not Ron, but possessing Ron-like connections or qualities.
**A ‘stache of Rons: ** A group of Rons. In tribute to the porn mustache the group all pictured Ron having. See also Gosh of Ron-duhs.
**homeRon: ** Action figure version of Ron, available for only $19.99. Bonded Camaro not included.
**WWRD?: ** *What Would Ron Do?, *a mantra used by individuals bound to become Ronulians.
**More Ron: **Chant used when it’s story time. (Not to be confused with moron, although Ron is often confused by it.)

My sister (Og rest her soul) didn’t have the best taste in men. She was definitely what we would call a Ron-duh. We’ve never before identified the male version of a Ron-duh, I propose now that we dub them Ron-D’OHs. And, for the jury’s consideration, I present to you my first nomination for Ron-D’OH: My former brother-in-law, whom I’ll call “Jim.”

Jim and my sister were in the process of divorce when she suddenly passed away. They had learned to be friends during their separation, though, and so I bore Jim no ill-will and we have stayed in touch off and on over the years.

Jim moved back home with his parents around the time of my sister’s death. One night, while surfing an online dating site, Jim met a woman who was very sweet to him. She was living in Africa in a small village in Nigeria. This didn’t raise any red flags for Jim; he had dated someone who had come over from Africa before. (I don’t remember him dating any African women – although I believe he went on a date with an African-American girl in high school. I think she was from New Jersey.)

His new friend soon asked him if he would mind cashing a few traveler’s checks for her and then sending the money to another friend via Western Union. Still no red flags for Jim. He took the checks to his bank. When he later found out that they had (shockingly) bounced, his new girlfriend assured him she had been scammed too, and swore she would pay him back the $4,000 he was now out.

Next she sent him a Fedex package full of $100 bills. A small flag started to raise up for ole Jimbo, but he claims he was “just going along to collect more evidence.” Not that he informed the police or even his father, a former prison warden. Umm, a former highly-decorated employee of the police department whose house he was living in at the time!

Nope, Jimbo just kept going right along with his new African girlfriend’s requests. Turns out, his stash of cash was really $1 bills from uncut sheets that had been washed and re-printed as $100s. A friend at the bank told Jim these were counterfeit bills. Of course, Jim now claims he had every intention of calling the police at this point, only, well, they came looking for him first.

Yup, the secret service and the state police arrived at his dad’s house with a search warrant. Their search revealed twenty-seven Fedex envelopes full over $69,000 of counterfeit $100s. Along with more counterfeit travelers’ checks. Jim (under the heavy influence of his dad, I’m sure) cooperated with the investigation and officials finally were convinced he really was that stupid and wasn’t in on the counterfeit operation. He was sentenced to two years probation and some hefty fines.

I had heard rumors about Jim’s unfortunate experience with “imported funds” but had no real proof or details about it. It’s not something you routinely discuss in the annual Christmas letter, y’know? So how did I find out about it? It all came out when Jim decided he was the best man to run for town office. Because, clearly, participating in a Nigerian email scam has no bearing on one’s ability to make legal or financial decisions that affect an entire township.

Surprisingly, he didn’t win. But fingers crossed for 2012! Long live Ron-D’OH!

2

New Ron thread! Awesome!

3

I loved the original Ron thread and I look forward to hearing about all of the people I’m glad I don’t know.

4

Yay! Another Ron thread!

5

Sweet! I was starting to wear out the intarnets reading the other thread so often!

6

LOL - y’all are so sweet.

7

Melody, have you considered starting a blog and then getting a book deal? This is really great stuff.

8

[squee]

Yay, Melody! Back to entertain and inform…

9

I just read a good portion of the original Ron thread, and I feel really sad for that poor white persian kitty named after a porn star. No kitty deserves a Ron:(

10

A video:

Dick-Ron. Even has the 'stash!

11

I read the whole Ron thread, grieving that I didn’t have a Ron story to tell. Then I remembered one! :smiley:

It was a blind date from a dating site. He seemed normal, kind of teddy-bearish, which I dig. Glasses, read a lot, rather geeky, woohoo!

We met at a California Pizza Kitchen for lunch. I had to be at work later in the day, so I had an automatic limit. I hadn’t eaten that morning, so I was starving. I explained that to Ron and asked if it would be okay if I ordered some hummus as an appetizer. No problem, he assured me.

When it arrived, he pointed at it and said “Hey, that looks like white pooh!”

Oy.

Okay, so he wasn’t as cuddly as I’d hoped for. It was more benign neglect of his physical appearance, which I can tolerate. Up to a point. He worked for a printshop and had black stains embedded in the beds of his nails, his knuckled, and some of the deeper grooves of his hands. I’ve known a few people who worked in printshops, and I didn’t remember them having problems getting their hands clean. Hmm.

And then the conversation starts. Or rather, I should say monologue. Ron begins with how he’s really third-in-charge at the shop, and he’s charge of the night shift. Which is really important. Okay, I can imagine a lot of print jobs have to be handled overnight. What he should really be is in charge of the day shift, because that’s where all the customer contact is, and he’s really good with customers. They love him. I mean, really, really love him. Like, they give him stuff.

Now, I have a degree in advertising art, which included a pretty good foundation in graphic design. Not great, but enough so I can hold a conversation without sounding like an idiot. In one of the few places I can get a word in, I say something like “Yeah, doesn’t it drive you nuts when the customers bring in some piece with fifteen different fonts, and half of them are decorative and the rest are the most ugly san serif you’ve ever seen?”

“San serif? What’s that?”

Oh, only one of the most basic terms to describe typography that you’d pick up in the first week of printing. Moving on!

I’m getting more and more antsy, as the conversation is about 92% him talking, 4% me talking, and 4% him interrupting and talking over me. Should have met for coffee. I could have wound things up and been out of there. But nooooo, I’d had a hankering for pizza, and it just had to be lunch.

“You said in your profile that you write,” he said.

What? An opening for me to join in? Oh joy! Oh rapture! And before I can open my mouth, he continues.

“Yeah, I used to write. I wrote this whole novel once. I was so proud of it. Then, someone stole my spiral notebook out of my backpack and sold it to a guy in Hollywood who made a blockbuster movie from it. I never had the heart to write again.”

I sit and stare at him, torn between climbing over the innocent bystanders seated next to us in a mad bid for escape and thinking maybe I could at least get an amusing anecdote out of it.

“That was back in eighth grade.”

I made my break for the bathroom.

The worst part was, the majority of my friends had gone out to a movie, and being human beings, they’d turned off their cell phones. Desperate for rescue, I called my brother.

“phoukabro, you’ve got to help me. I’m on the worst blind date God ever invented. Seriously, I’m talking locusts, rivers of blood, that sort of thing. I need you to call me back in five minutes, pretend you’re my boss, and order me in to work early.”

“Aw, geeze, I don’t know, phouka. I’m right in the middle of the latest X-Box game.”

“Dude, I will bake you cookies. Your choice, peanut butter or chocolate chips.”

“Five minutes? Okay. Make 'em chocolate chips.”

Never sound that desperate when on the phone to your younger brother.

So, I rejoined Ron, who hadn’t appeared to have noticed my absence, as he was still talking. About work. And how the owner of the print shop, and the manager, and the assistant manager all hated him. You see, they were jealous of him. Because he was better at everything than them, and they knew it. (Except handwashing, I thought to myself.) I counted the seconds until my brother called. Bastard waited an extra half-minute.

The phone rang, and I clawed it out of my pocket.

“YES!”

"Yeah . . . phouka . . . it’s your . . . uh . . . boss. Emergency at work . . . kittens dying . . . puppies crying . . . you gotta come in . . . "

“No kidding! But I told you I had a thing! Really? Okay, but you’d better make it up to me! See you in fifteen!”

I hung up the phone and looked at Ron, who had managed to pause his litany of awesomeness.

“Work emergency gotta go in early boss really owes me can I have that boxed up to go THANKS!”

I fled. I was at work more than an hour early, which completely confused my real boss, and I ranted to everyone who would hold still long enough about the date.

I still see it as a bit of purgatory on Earth and fully expect to get my time in Hell after I die. discounted.

12

Wait - you left before finding out which blockbuster it was?? Phouka - really . . .

13

Isn’t it obvious?

14

yup - i was totally whooshed.

15

I think I have a Ron story to tell but to get into details would be pretty TMI and kind of mean, even though he was a jerk.

16

You know you wanna. :smiley:

17

Resistance is futile…and all that… :wink:

18

So change some of the details. Call your Ron “Steve”, and say he’s a taxi-driver from Iowa.

(Unless he really is Steve the Iowan Taxi-Driver. In which case, pick other details).

19

Anaamika - we must insist you spill your guts. In exchange, I promise to tell the tale of Bra Boy.

20

The mind boggles at just what his super-powers are.