Party downer: Ron's 10 most humiliating moments on Party Down

There are few things more humiliating than buying Cuban cigars for a conservative governor. Let alone a cigar-chomping conservative governor most notable for being Mr. Universe and playing a killer robot. Thankfully, the Terminator never met Ron. As if actively looking to one-up the absolute fuck up caused by a young Josh Gad, Ron bleaches a battle-damaged flag from the Iraq war meant as a gift for Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger and sets a new flag ablaze in an attempt to fool the Governator. Of course, the plan doesn’t work. The shots of star-crossed lovers Henry (Adam Scott) and Casey (Lizzy Kaplan) waving to each other like a disassociating Romeo and Juliet as Ron smacks the flaming flag on the ground and requests dark dust and cinder reveal the sad truth behind Ron’s pathetic existence: None of this is surprising nor even worth mentioning. This is simply Ron’s life.

Watching Ron succeed is almost as difficult as watching him fail. Ron’s life is like an embarrassing Michael Crichton thought experiment where failure finds a way. Sometimes, though, there’s a spark of confidence. During the “Investors Dinner,” Ron actually establishes something of a backbone and confronts a fraudster looking to screw over him and his fellow shareholders. Assuming the firearm is a fake, Ron faces death in the face as he grabs the crook’s gun and calls his bluff, pointing the gun to his forehead. Unfortunately, upon recognizing the very real danger he’s in, Ron reverts to his primal defense and pisses himself. He flew too close the sun on wings made of soiled underwear.

When Party Down caters the funeral of James Ellison, the event prompts Ron to rethink his life, forcing a rare moment of lucid self-reflection. Yet, the twisted tales of Ron’s past reveal even more upsetting truths. His self-inflicted obituary says it all: “Here lies Ronald Wayne Donald. Repeated first grade because he couldn’t figure out scissors. First in his class to master a keg stand. Partied for 20 years. Ran a soup place for 5 months. Never did anything. Never won anything. It didn’t matter. Now he’s dead, and nobody cares. And nothing to hang up on the wall to show he even existed.” What a horrid life.

Of all the degrading exploits of Ron’s life, one in particular seemed to rock him to his core. And it’s all summed up in one of the most humiliating questions Ron’s ever asked: “Henry, when you have an orgasm, how much stuff comes out [beat] of your penis?” Not that we would shame Ron or anyone for their biological processes, but the sense of profound defeat with which Ron asks the question is scarring. After a recent ejaculation, a woman he’s dating got in his head, asking “is that all?” Ron’s left fending off his own theories about super soakers and CGI. He’s determined that a jigger-full of jizz must be normal. Or is it? He doesn’t know. However, considering he turns to Henry with the problem instead of a doctor or a close friend, Ron does have comfort with sex, which leads us to believe he’s among the most sex-positive characters in recent TV memory.

Ron lives a brutal experience. Like Sysusphis, he’s forced to push the rock of dehumanizing punishment up the hill every day. In season one, his only glimmer of hope was the off-chance that he would one day run a soup concept called “Soup R’ Crackers,” the fastest-growing non-poultry, non-coffee franchise in all of Southern California. Despite Soup R’ Crackers naturally lending itself to the massive economic downturn of the Great Recession, evoking images of soup lines, the company went bankrupt. For Ron, living his dream was now [chokes back tears, pulls back hair] “a great experience.” Showing up at the Jackal Onassis gig, with a new girlfriend and a bitchin’ Camaro, he’s ready to swallow his pride and lie about his time running the eatery. Poor Ron. Even mediocrity exceeds his grasp.

When we catch up with Ron in season three, things haven’t gotten any better for our chipper team leader. Ron has begun spray-dying his sideburns silver in a desperate attempt at gravitas after a comment card asserted he “seemed like a child.” He also demolishes his pinky finger from punching his van. But all this comes down to the embarrassing reason Ron thinks bad things happen to him: He was cursed by spirits after taking a shit in a haunted house. Ron says, “I slave away for 10 years to buy this company only to be tied to a hippy-dippy looney tune from planet ding-dong,” he says. “Oh, why is this happening? It’s like I’m cursed—oh my God. I never should’ve gone to the bathroom in that old house.” Not only is Ron unable to take responsibility for his failures (see: next slide), he thinks these bad things happen because he followed through on a dare to poop in a haunted house. This man is a child.

There are few things sadder than an events specialist with decades of experience living out of his party van. But taking money from Nazis certainly doesn’t help. Making his way through the pandemic, Ron takes a job at the First Annual PI2A Symposium, an assemblage of neo-Nazis and alt-right chuds attempting to launder their half-baked conspiracy theories and xenophobic scapegoating into the culture. “Morals? What does that have to do with anything? This is just business,” Ron says. Party Down is behind on payments, and Ron might lose his penis van if they don’t hold their noses and “work for the Nazis.” Nevertheless, Nazis or not, Ron would still like to sadly “snag some referals,” indicating that he’d do another event for them. Nazis, Ron? C’mon.

The Sin Say Shun Awards afterparty is a situation someone as accident-prone as Ron has no business attending. And yet, when given the opportunity to utilize his god-given talents (e.g. his monster hog) and get a “fluff job” from the wickedly talented, one and only Stormy Daniels, things go horribly awry. And it’s not just Casey, once again, catching him at an all-time low, with Guy Stennislaus (Mather Zickel) snapping pictures of Ron’s sausage and peppers. When Daniels and another performer argue over who deserves the Best Blowjob award, the statue sets a collision course with Ron’s poor penis. He’s left in his natural state: lying in the fetal position with a bruised, um, ego.

Ron’s romantic life has always been a dismal affair. As if we needed more examples than him asking “how many jiggers of ejaculate is normal” and vomiting on his high school crush. Still, when he misreads some signals sent by his employee Lydia (Megan Mullally), he leans in for the kiss and gets a face full of mace. An instance of Ron getting what’s coming to him, his dalliance with workplace sexual harassment is another humiliating entry in the Book of Ron. Imagine explaining this to Alan Duk. Ron’s never getting that Soup R’ Crackers back off the ground.

Who other than Ron would attempt to recreate the most humiliating moment of their life in front of their whole high school? The man is resilient, we’ll give him that. Taking on the degrading job of catering to his high-school reunion, Ron spends the night re-capturing some of his youth. But after finding himself in the ever-familiar friend zone with the prettiest girl in school, Melinda Weintraub (Molly Parker), he decides to do something he couldn’t do 20 years ago: chug a bottle of whiskey in front of the whole class like he was Bluto from Animal House. Very cool. Or, at least, it would be. Mere moments after declaring himself a “success now,” Ron collapses in a puddle of his own vomit, choking on chum as he bubbles through the words “call an ambulance” right in front of his crush. There’s no coming back from that one.