Ten Years of Nonsense: When We Began Calling Ourselves "Morons"

votermom wanted to know how the "Morons" label started.

It started with Arnold Schwarzenegger.

I thought Arnold was funny when he said "Let's be honest, Democrats are losers." I loved the way he introduced the insult so casually. Like, come on, we all know this. You're losers. Let's be honest.

Schwarzenegger Calls Democrats 'Losers' Once 'Girlie Men,' Dems May Also Be 'Losers' In Governor's Mind

LOS ANGELES -- Two days after the worst election defeat in decades for Democrats, Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger referred to them as "losers" in response to a reporter's question about tax increases.

...

"Why would I listen to losers?" the governor asked. "Let's be honest."

I started using the "Let's be honest" insult-introduction:

Nancy Pelosi? You're an idiot. I mean-- let's be honest. There's no point maintaining this charade of your non-idiocy. It's the elephant in the room we've finally got to talk about.

Michael Moore? You smell like a wet camel. Let's be honest. We've got to get you to one of those industrial-sized circus showers and hose you down like the big sweaty filthbeast you are.

Anyway, after the 2004 elections, progressives did what they do after every losing election: They called the public stupid. Bob Herbert of the New York Times wrote a piece called "Voting Without the Facts" to explain John Kerry's loss in a manner insulting to Americans.

So that's why I wrote to readers, "Let's be honest: You're morons."

Originally published November 9, 2004.

Let's Be Honest: You're Morons

That's quickly become the basic liberal explanation for Democrats' failure.

You're stupid. Every one of you. Some more than others, but let's be honest, none of you is precisely a rocket scientist.

And I'm not exactly splitting atoms myself here, either.

It's about time we faced the facts.

You people are all so dumb-stupid you believe that proof of a connection between Hussein and Al Qaeda constitutes, I don't know, some sort of proof of a connection between Hussein and Al Qaeda.

How do you make that leap, exactly? What kind of subcretins are you imbeciles?

Let's be honest: The most intelligent thing that comes out of your mouths is a prodigious amount of ropy moron-drool.

How many of you short-bus commuters can successfully differentiate between Dido and Kylie Minogue? Not many, I bet. Y'all can probably better tell the difference between a smell-hound and a coon-hound than successfully identify pop divas.

How many of you corncob-smokin', cousin-pokin' inbred Hillybilly riffraff understand that Kim Cattrall's performance in Sex in the City is a brave and deliriously over-the-top paeen to female sexual empowerment? You squirrel-huntin' redneck trash-scavengers probably just know her as the chick who gets turned on by gym socks in Porky's.

Come to think of it, that's how I know her, too.

Like I said: I'm stupid too.

Let's be honest: How many of you have the wit and insight to know which of Maureen Dowd's tastelessly-puerile wisecracks you're supposed to pretend are funny?

The lot of you are stock characters out of The Dukes of Hazzard, except with fewer fingers and feet, owing to a series of tragic yet comical accidents with the band-saw and gator-wrasslin', cartoonishly runnin' shine round muddy Georgia back-roads while tryin' to bail your beloved Uncle Jesse out of the hoosegow.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Every single one of you is a slack-jawed shaved-baboon who needs to put in his'n "lucky tooth" when Nana Nooney makes her county-famous muskat pie.

Idiots. Don't you know the media wanted you to vote for Kerry? Did they have to draw you a road map? How obvious do they have to make it for you? Maybe next time they'll need to resort to explaining things to you with rebus-puzzles-- simple rebus-puzzles, I mean, because, let's face it, it's not like any of you can recognize a line-drawing of anything more complex than a hole-digger. Or Jeff Foxworthy.

You make the Mountain Men from Deliverance look like a Mensa mixer.

I don't know how any of you feel -- I don't know much, truth be told; my Pappy wasn't much for book-learnin' neverways, choosing instead to teach me instead about real-world type stuff, like tyin' a good lure or Jew-hatin' -- but I for one am sick to death of being such a halfwit pinhead stupidbrain.

Next time, I'm going to listen to Dan Rather. I'll vote for whoever he tells me to vote for, just so long as he makes it real clear for me. Maybe he can put out a colorin' book or somethin'. I like to color. My teacher sometimes even lets me use Magic Markers, so long as she's nearby and keepin' a sharp eye on me, because otherwise I tend to eat them.

They don't taste very good. But they're colorful like licorice and rock-candy.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to get myself to a hoe-down. I play the best fidjo in Oshawalla County. The fidjo is an instrument I created myself-- basically, I just tooks me a fiddle and glued it to the back of my trusty banjo.

Right now I'm workin's on makin' me a shotgunjo. Basically that's a-- wait, let me keep it a secret until it's ready. Don't want no carpetbagger Yanks stealin' my ideas.

Sometimes I'm a moron, but othertimes I have flashes of real smarts like that. So that gives me hope that maybe I'll vote right next time. I just hope Dan Rather isn't so G-darn cagey about telling me the right way to vote. Sometimes when he talks, it confuses me, and makes my head hurt somethin' fierce.

And when my head gets to achin', the only way to relieve the pain is to walk me down to the stockyards and start strangling tramps and railroad hobos in their sleep.

Just to watch them die. It makes me feel powerful, almost God-like, as if I were, I don't know, Randall "Tex" Cobb or somethin'.

Err... I reckon I shouldn't have said that. Too bad I'm such a Hee Haw doofus that I can't figure out this magic word-machine technology and delete that.

Well, I guess I gotta go. Cletus and Enos will be showin' up on my ramshackle shack's stoop to take me away any minute now, on account of that serial tramp killin' I was just tellin' y'all about, if you remember, which you probably don't, being so stupid and all.

Luckily, I just put in a new Hemi in my '64 El Camino, so I can make a fast getaway, I think.

On the other hand, it doesn't have any tires. I don't know what kind of mileage it's going to get on cinderblocks.

Either way, I got my shotgunjo. They'll never take me alive. I'll go down killin' poe-lice and playing select favorites from the Charlie Daniels Band.

...

And so that's how it started.

posted by Ace at 05:09 PM

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