OMG! I just watched “The Office” last night and realized that Dwight Shrute is the ultimate Ron. Well, apart from the original Ron, of course!
Unfortunately, Dwight Shrute actually is successful at things - he’s not the “almost acting manager of the Burger King” - he actually is kinda good with money sometimes.
My Ron was a customer where I worked. I usually avoided dating customers but he took my by surprise when he invited me to dinner and I accepted without thinking it through. Turned out he was an insurance salesman. He spent dinner trying to sell insurance…to the waitress. (The Lakers game on in the bar so I at least had something to do.) I managed to get through the evening and thought I was home free. He called a couple of times and asked me out again and I said no. I really didn’t even make up any excuses, just said, no I don’t think so, thanks for asking. Finally I thought he had stopped calling, but the next time he came into my workplace he asked me, all sad, why I didn’t want to go out with him. If only I had read this thread by then, I could have said because you are a Ron.
Well, *soooomebody *keeps starting all of those “Why do chick only go out with jerks?” threads.
This made me giggle so loud that a co-worker yelled over the cubicle walls “whats so funny??”
Like I could even begin to explain . . .
My college roommate may qualify as a Ron.
He was adept at picking up the ladies at last call…just before they fell off the bar stool. So to speak. I confess that I was a little jealous, something he was adept at playing on. I got to hear about all his conquests, and to meet quite a few of them.
One particular lady, he told me, had to be accompanied to the doctor’s office because neither one of them had remembered to remove her tampon before they had intercourse, and it had become pushed up high enough in her insides to no longer be removable by non-medical personnel. A true gentleman!
I feel filthy even remembering this story.
ew!
At the risk of necro-ing the thread, there should be More Ron!
Concur.
I had a Ronette in the library a while back. She need help getting things aligned the way she wanted them on the resume she was writing. The aspect of the software she didn’t seem to quite understand was tabs.
I couldn’t help but notice that one of the skills she listed was that she was “expert at Microsoft Word.”
:rolleyes:
Mine too. This was 24 years ago at Indiana State in Terre Haute. I was a grad student. First time living on campus & thus with a roomie. (My undergrad college was next to my hometown).
His name was Stu- tall, lanky, semi-shaven & self-proclaimed expert on practically everything, bagged a sweet little co-ed on her first week there (I walked in on them- no token on the door to let me know). Fortunately, in three weeks, she caught on to his bullshit & dumped him. I used to describe him as Kramer without the charm- I will also add Borat without the winsome naivite’.
I am not a neat-nik. But my laundry was kept in a bag & my piles of books & papers were neatly arrayed on my desk. His stuff were scattered in a viscous mess on the floor. I would make sure it was on his half of the floor. When once he dropped a cup of milk on the floor then had to leave immediately for his class without cleaning it, I took a stick to move his pile over to soak it up. I figured that way, when he did his laundry, it would actually get cleaned. I will give him credit that he did accept the fairness of that.
Stu’s Ron stories-
He told me how over Summer break his Mom had passed away (I am sure one time he said it was cancer, another time it was suicide) and a couple years before, his Dad had. When he came back from mid-term break, his Grandmom had either died or didn’t have long. Dormmates who’d known him from the previous year (and who had written a comic book about him) told me that he had a way of having a relative die over every break.
His lower right side had a scar- from when he pulled him commanding officer out of a burning vehicle (jeep or helicopter, the story varied) when he served in our secret war in El Salvador (which was going to become an open war at any moment). The scar was about where one would expect an appendectomy one to be.
He put his stuff in storage at the dorm, but did not return in January. But nor did he actually withdraw. After enduring two weeks of literal nightmares about him returning, I paid the extra $200 to guarantee myself a private room. Never risked having a roomie after that.
I’ve been playing Wii Lego Harry Potter recently. In these games the second character is often pretty useless when not being played, but it seemed like whenever it was Ron Weasley he was even more useless. He’d get stuck in places, fail to follow me so he wasn’t there when I needed and I’d have to backtrack just to find him standing there, he’d often repeatedly fall off things and die over and over. After one of these annoying incidents I said “God, he’s such a Ron!”.
I had to do the same thing with one of my good friends. :smack: I spent maybe 25 minutes just cleaning the document up.
I’m nervous, guys. I like T-top camaros and I think I’m great at everything.
I had a roommate that would brag to girls that he was in a band. The part he left out? It was a marching band. His instrument? The cymbals! 
Do you have a porn stache, wear big sunglasses, and grease your hair?
Doesn’t everyone?
The you consider it possible that you might be a Ron means that you’re probably not a Ron.
I think my youngest brother may be a Ron, except without the amusing side or the 'stache. He’s just tragically self-deluded about his abilities. For example he’s never had a proper job in his life - one where they, you know, pay you on a regular basis. Oh no, that would be utterly demeaning for one of his entrepreneurial talents. The fact that every business he’s started or got involved in has gone broke within a year is apparently due to the most astounding run of bad luck, bad timing, betrayal by partner, mean landlord, or any of 50 other run-of-the-mill events that most other small businesses seem to cope with.
The single most important thing for someone in his line of work (the fitness industry, BTW, with a sideline in “dietary supplements” - or rather, pyramid schemes that purport to sell same) is apparently to have a mean-looking black car or pickup with tinted windows and a personalised license plate, which supposedly really pulls the customers to the gym you are currently running (down) when it’s parked outside. But as he can’t afford to actually buy a car he leases them; I have no idea how many he’s gone through in 20 years. The concept that you need to reduce your outgoings to below your income has yet to take hold.
The second most vital accoutrement is a mobile phone, although not so vital as to actually pay the bill. So he constantly moves from network to network; the introduction of mobile number transferability here was a more important piece of legislature to him than the Magna Carta.
I once suggested he look at a job in the Fire Department as they were hiring, he was fit enough, and they had a schedule which was (something like, I forget exactly) 8 days on and 6 days off, perfect for someone trying to start a small business. I found the online form, printed it out, talked to him, everything I could to encourage him. Then he found out that there was a written test he’d have to do - oh no, that would be too stressful, no way could he contemplate attempting to do something so demanding. Then it all spills out - he says the only thing he likes to do - the only thing - is to come up with business plans. Not to actually implement them, just the creating and writing bits. But, I say, no-one gets paid for that … and he starts crying at how cruel the world is to deny him his dream! And, how dare I be so negative!
I was kayak-camping two weeks ago, and when we went to pick up our permits, there was a mustache of Rons ahead of us. (“Mustache” is the collective term for a group of Rons, right? I forget what we’d established in the original thread.) I can’t even put together a good story about this entire family. But it took well over half an hour for them to get their shit together and just pay for their camp sites and then get the f*ck out of everyone else’s way!
We were going on a paddling trip and woe is us that we had to pick our permits up from that ranger station. The mustache of Rons was exceptionally loud. They didn’t speak, they brayed like donkeys. They also had to leave the ranger station and go out in the parking lot for every. single. aspect. when it came to filling out their campsite paperwork. No, really — every. fcking. little. thing* resulted in haggling with the ranger and then required a full family consultation back out in the parking lot, while my buddy stood after them in line.
Eg/
-
Name. (Really.)
Ron#1 walks out to the parking lot, he’s got the Ron hair, the Ron 'stache, but he’s a big guy with a too-small t-shirt that only covered the top half of his belly. He was braying: “Hee-haw Ronette! Whose name do we want on the form?” Goes back inside. Minutes later, comes back out. “They won’t let us use the same name for more than one site. What’s our other name?” -
Number of people on campsite.
Ron#2 goes out into the parking lot, braying: “Rhonduh! Are you going to be on our site?” Conversation goes on about which Rons are going where, takes awhile because they can’t keep track of who all is actually camping and who just came along to stand in the parking lot for awhile before going home. Ron#2 goes back inside with data. -
Names of the children.
Ron#1 doesn’t seem to know the names of his own children. Goes out into the parking lot, braying. “Ronette-hee-haw! What are the kids’ names? Are they staying on our site?” Goes back inside. Comes back out, braying: “Hee-haw-Ronette! What are the kids names? No! Not them, the other kids’ names. And they’re staying with Ron#2? Well, who all is staying with Ron#2?” Repeat conversation/haggling/full family consultation from “2. Number of people on site.”
Meanwhile, as I was tightening the straps holding my kayak to the roof, I hear Ronette complaining to MamaRon, braying: “I think we should fight this-hee-haw! It’s their fault we have to pay for a campsite here! They should have to reimburse us!” It’s not like I was eavesdropping, she was braying loudly, for the world to hear. Apparently, the mustache of Rons had gotten themselves thrown out of some campsite for boorish behavior of some kind. They had a pick up truck piled up with stuff à la Beverly Hillbillies. Tons of luggage, toys… and a beer fridge (a must when tent camping), piled up in a jumbled heap, so that it was about 5 feet higher than the cab of their one monster pick up truck, and all held down by a cargo net to keep it from all tumbling onto the road.
MamaRon, who talked like she had at least half a brain in her head, said (not brayingly): “Um… I’m not sure. I think it’ll be awfully tough to fight…” Ronette brayed: “Well, maybe we can get the police to testify that we left quietly when they told us to.” Yup, the mustache didn’t just get kicked out of a campground, they were escorted from the premises by the OPP (our version of state troopers).
Then Ron#2 came out, braying: “Hee-Ronduh-haw! They’re dinging us another $12 to park the extra cars!” (They arrived with one monster truck jacked up really high, loaded as described above, a second pick up, and four other cars.)
In the end, the campground which had posted signs “Campground Full” somehow managed to squeeze the mustache onto two separate sites… on opposite sides of the lake. The Rons discovered this as they were all congregated in the parking with MamaRon asking about the children. “This is bear country… where are the kids? Should they have gone off into the woods like that?”
Ron#2 realizes they don’t have an electrical site for the beer fridge. Runs back inside.
Time required to pick up our paddling permits: 4 minutes. Total time spent at the rangers’ station due to the mustache of Rons, about 44 minutes. By the time we were pulling out of the parking lot, more park rangers were arriving, possibly as back-up. My buddy, who got to see the better circus inside the rangers’ station, came out pissed as hell. “It was a f*cking parade of stoopid in there!”
Lol - I needed this after the day I’ve had.