Color me guilty, but I do love a Ron thread. I just about peed myself reading some of these tales.
I wish I had something to add.
Well, I do, but it’s no way close to what’s already here. It’s more of a third person tale, and it’s really not that great. More like sour grapes.
Hee! A moustache of Rons!
The concept behind this thread is completely new to me, but since ignorance is never a barrier to speech, I would like to suggest different appellations for different groupings of Rons.
Two relevant distinctions that could be drawn are between a stache of Rons, a family of Rons and groups that contain both Rons and non-Rons.
Family groupings probably reinforce Ronistic traits and therefore should be much more dangerous than the looser amalgamation which constitutes a stache. ‘A sphincter of Rons’ captures the idea of a small, tight group.
I would guess that groups containing both Rons and non-Rons are as rare and short-lived as ultra heavy atomic nuclei, so it may or may not be worth the trouble of naming them. ‘A tension of Rons’ might capture the inherent . . . ummmm . . . tension, but I’d like to hear other ideas.
We’ll have to start a Ron Wiki soon.
I worked with a Ron who was named Ron and had a mustache. He really was a Ron’s Ron to the Ron-degree.
To give you an idea, and I swear I am not making this up, he had people come into the office and assault him on three different occasions"
His stepson’s father beat the crap out of him after he assaulted the stepson for taking about his own’s son drug-relatec arrest. We didn’t see Ron for three days after that incident.
A very famous crazy people smacked him several times for disrespecting his daughter and told him that he would be killed if he ever did it again. (I was out of the office for this one. I later told the guy that if I had been there, I would have paid good money to see it).
A man he had a dispute with over some money came in demanding payment and when Ron refused, he literally pistol-whipped him. Ron had to go to the hospital, who then had to report it to the police. When the county prosecutor came into our office, he hit a brick wall of nobody knowing nothing.
An argument of Rons. 
I just remembered I once knew a Ron. He was from Ireland, so I’ll call him Eire-Ron.
Eire-Ron was a cook at a restaurant where I was a hostess. He was working on getting his green card, and was very paranoid about anything that he thought might endanger that. For instance, a dishwasher/busboy gave him a ride once, and told us afterwards that Eire-Ron had said “If we get pulled over” (oh, thanks!) “I’m not saying a word.” To be fair, his accent was thick as a brick, but unless there was open liquor, which there wouldn’t have been, I don’t think he had anything to fear from getting pulled over as a passenger.
Now, I don’t know what kind of people he hung out with before he came to the US. It may have been simple cultural unfamiliarity that led him to befriend the scuzzier of the two other cooks. Imagine Stinky, from Hate comics, only not even as bright. Anyway, that led to hanging out with this guy’s whole crew. Which led to a fairly amusing anecdote.
Eire-Ron was on break and chatting with me and a waitress, and asked about attics and cellars. Did they have them elsewhere in the US? Because he’d been surprised to find out that houses in California don’t usually have attics or cellars. Just crawl spaces. I said yeah, that was a California thing, but plenty of American houses had attics and what we usually call “basements” instead of “cellars”…Why was he asking, anyway?
Well, apparently the cops had come to Stinky’s house while Eire-Ron and some other guys, some of whom lived there, were hanging out. Eire-Ron was in the kitchen when Stinky rushed in and told him to “hide somewhere”. What he thought was a cellar door led to the aforementioned crawl space, so that’s where he hid.
“Wait – cops? Uh…so they found you hiding in a crawl space?”
“S’oroight*; they were just there to arrest the one fella.”
“They didn’t find you?”
“No, I waited until I heard the car drive away, then I came out.”
“…Okay.”
So you might think Eire-Ron would start choosing better company from then on. Yeh. Shortly afterwards, we see him leaving work with Stinky, amidst much joshing and backslapping. The next time I saw him, I casually ventured, “So, you’re still hanging out at Stinky’s house?”
“Sure…S’oroight; I don’t smoke that stuff!”
I don’t think I ever found out what “that stuff” was. I hope it wasn’t crack or meth, because IME, everyone who’s said what he said either ends up smoking it, or stops hanging out with the people who do. But even if it was just weed, I should think he wasn’t helping his green card efforts. Which, I’m sorry to say, I don’t know the results of; I left the job before he would have found out.
*Same in every dialect. “But it’s okay.” “It’s cool, though.” “It’s all good.” Yeh.
Dunnow, argument sounds like it might be too complicated a word, this is Rons we’re talking about… a yelling of Rons?
Yelling may even be too proper, with its fancy schamncy “ing” ending. I would lean more towards a Hollerin’ of Rons and non-Rons.