Marceaux's viral moment sat at an interesting intersection of internet humor and political commentary. The three Colbert Report segments gave him more national airtime than most legitimate third-party candidates ever receive5. His Jimmy Kimmel appearance put him in the same celebrity circuit as professional entertainers1.

The media coverage also raised uncomfortable questions. New York Magazine explicitly compared the internet's treatment of Marceaux to the premise of Dinner for Schmucks, a film about rich people mocking eccentric outsiders for entertainment2. Marceaux's criminal history, including multiple insanity verdicts and forced psychiatric hospitalizations, complicated the joke considerably5. Whether audiences were watching a savvy self-promoter or an unwell man being exploited for clicks was never fully settled.

His post-loss claim that he deliberately manipulated the internet into covering him became its own meta-conversation about authenticity online3. The Atlantic and Washington Post both devoted serious analysis to whether Marceaux had played everyone, treating the question as genuinely unresolvable3.

Basil Marceaux was not a newcomer to Tennessee politics when his 2010 video broke through. He had run unsuccessfully for the Tennessee State Senate three times, the U.S. Senate once, and governor in three separate elections before his viral moment5. His history in Hamilton County Criminal Court included 19 cases, mostly misdemeanor traffic violations, with seven resulting in verdicts of not guilty by reason of insanity in 20055. He was twice ordered to Moccasin Bend Mental Health Institute for observation5. This background made the "stop traffic stops" policy position darkly autobiographical.

A Mason-Dixon poll taken before the video went viral predicted Marceaux would receive about one percent of the vote5. The actual primary on August 5, 2010 saw him finish fifth out of five candidates with 3,505 votes, or 0.5% of the total, losing to Knoxville mayor Bill Haslam4. He also ran in the 3rd congressional district Republican primary that same day, placing ninth out of eleven candidates with 655 votes5. A Public Policy Polling survey found he would lose to President Obama by 25 points in a hypothetical 2012 presidential matchup5.

The most fascinating chapter came after the loss. Marceaux told the Washington Post: "I hate to say this, but I set the Internet up. I set the Internet up so they would talk bad about me because it's the only way to get hits"3. The Post's Monica Hesse wrestled with the claim, writing that each public appearance yielded "the same internal observation: This guy cannot be for real, unless he is the realest thing anyone has ever seen"3. The Atlantic framed it as a bold declaration, though left the question unresolved3.

New York Magazine captured the irony loop perfectly: "As with Pabst Blue Ribbon, Basil Marceaux became so ironically popular, people forgot they liked him ironically. They started taking him seriously"2. The question of whether the internet was laughing with or at Marceaux hung over the entire episode. Wonkette's coverage acknowledged that bloggers "reveled in Basil's kookiness" much like "the jerkoff bankers in Dinner for Schmucks"2.

In December 2010, Marceaux released a Christmas song called "Come Christmas" with an accompanying music video, both of which went viral again5. He released the song on iTunes, showing he had fully figured out the mechanics of internet attention even if his campaign never figured out the mechanics of winning elections.

Marceaux proved to be a true perennial candidate. He filed to run for Tennessee governor again in 2022 as an independent and also ran for the U.S. House in Tennessee's 3rd congressional district5. None of these later campaigns generated anything close to the 2010 viral moment.