Oh definitely a “brag of Rons.”
When our Ron no longer worked with us we received a call for him. When the receptionist informed the caller that he no longer worked there the person said “but I thought he owned the place.”
Ahh!
Ah, Ron. Haven’t you spoken of him in rather loving, glowing terms at one of the Charlotte Dopefests?
Ron - such a lovely guy.
I know at least one guy named Ron. He always seems to be a kind and decent man. One person I know calls him: Gruff but lovable. He works in software development (like me) and seems pretty smart. He definitely does not work at Burger King.
I just read that to my husband. His reply: “Ooh, that’d be good!”
So, your Ron has inspired my Steve into imitating a Ron.
My FIL is (literally) a Ron. He’s got a terminal case of foot-in-mouth disease that’s lead to some spectacularly insulting conversation moments.
Most recently he left his fifth (we think - could be sixth) wife for the third (that we know of) time to run off to a retirement community with a woman who is younger than his daughter.
He found her at a Waffle House. There was some trouble with the whole senior community concept, what with Waffle House Woman only being 42.
She called my husband a couple of weeks ago begging him to go down there and force Ron to get back on his meds ‘cause he’s stirrin’ up trouble. “Down there” being a distance of about 1000 miles. Sounds like not all is well in paradise.
I am reminded of my friend’s brother. Who is named Ron.
So now you’ve got a real faux-Ron on your hands. Sympathies.
I’m picturing Ron with a man-perm, porn 'stache, sweater vest and fake Rolex. He drives a 'Vette.
(Chevette)
… and perpetually re-lives his high school football days (he was the waterboy).
ETA: And looks like Schneider from One Day at a Time.
Ha, in my head, Ron is pretty much Ben Stiller in Dodgeball.
With a 'stache and constantly re-living his football days? I’m picturing more this.
Tell him to stop eating all your steak.
Ron had a 'stache or what I liked to call “wisps of nothingness striving vainly to cover his luminescent upper lip.”
okay the fact that i just thought about his mouth is making me gag a little.
Today’s story:
Ron was a class act charmer. My sister was not necessarily on the top of her game, but with some help she had gotten a studio-style apartment in a decent area of town near enough to the bus system that she could get back and forth to her job at the call center.
However, a few weeks after meeting Ron, he convinced her to move in with him in his much smaller place which he was currently being evicted from.
But it was okay, because he then moved them in with another girl who was in section 8 housing with her small baby concieved by an illegal alien who had recently been deported. This new girl was living on unemployment and food stamps and had failed her driver’s test 4 times - but that’s another story and this is, after all, the Ron thread.
Nevertheless, my sister was no longer on the bus schedule so she lost her job and Ron got her a few hours at Burger King with his “executive” pull.
My sister soon got in to the habit of calling me on the 11th and 28th of each month (my paydays) and asking to borrow a few bucks until her checks came in (my sister got small SS & VA checks each month beyond her dream BK salary). I usually would spot her 20 or 40 and she would pay me back within a week.
But one time she called me up to ask for much more than that and I just couldn’t do it - plus I felt like I was enabling bad habits in her. She explained to me that Ron had sat on his glasses and had broken them and had spent their last $200 on some new studly designer glasses because he needed them to see/work.
(He couldn’t find any ones sexy enough that were actually covered under his BK health plan.)
My sister told me that they were living off BK food but needed diapers and formula for the baby (evidently the food stamps didn’t cover some of that either).
I just couldn’t do it (my husband at the time was pretty adamant)- and said maybe Ron should return the glasses for cheaper frames or tape the old ones back together until he could afford new ones. This was not an option for dear old Ron.
All week long, I felt bad and worried about my sister and this innocent baby. On that Saturday, I told my husband I couldn’t be stronger any longer and decided to take my sister grocery shopping for the things they needed or see what I could do to help.
I couldn’t reach my sister all day, and was growing concerned. Finally, she called me back all excited.
“Guess what, sis! Ron bought us Garth Brooks tickets!”
Surprised, I asked if Ron had gotten a bonus that allowed them to score such wonderment and cover their daily necessities.
“Oh no,” she explained. “Ron’s car payment bounced - so he just used the money from that!”
That is fucking classic.
Oh, yes we will. You can’t regale us with Ron and then dangle James in front of us too.
Burger King…that’s great.
Oh my Ron.
:smack:
Now, what does this make your sister? A Rhonda?
We have a Ron (his real name) in our family too. He’s married to Mr. S’s sister and is her second husband. Mr. S like to describe him this way: “My sister’s first husband is in prison, and her second husband should be.” No really – he’s got an impressive rap sheet at the WI circuit court case lookup Web site, and that’s probably just the stuff they caught him at. That whole twig on the family tree is composed of some “interesting” characters.
One day we stopped at a local gas station. As we were walking out, Mr. S a few steps ahead of me, this greasy Ed Gein/pedophile-looking guy came walking in. Just as I was noticing him and thinking, “Eww, creepy,” he said hi to Mr. S, who RETURNED THE GREETING. When we got outside, I said, “Who the hell was that, and how does he know you?” Mr. S said, “Oh, that was Ron.” My first gander at the legendary Ron in the flesh. Ewww.
He and Mr. S’s sister had two kids, a boy and a girl. Their names both begin with “Ron-.” :dubious:
Now is this, “Oh MY, Ron” or “Ohhhh, my Ron”??
I <heart> Ron stories! I <heart> melodyharmonious for being the Fairy Godmother of Ron stories.
I popped in to suggest that melody needs to devote an entire blog site to Ron stories, because these first couple were terrific.
There’s a reason bad sex is called “getting Ronned.”