I reacted not to the post, but the 'making fun of a form' sense of the limerick.
Don't get me wrong, I happened to enjoy a limerick or two, especially if well written and witty (with just a touch of salacity). I don't mind analysis or even over-analysis, but my question was innocent. I did not understand what you were saying. Now that I do, I have no problem with it.
Now, for my limerick story. Years ago, the founder of Oedilf (the Omniscient (née Oxford) English Dictionary in Limerick Form and I found ourselves to be the only two participants on a fortnightly words-related chat. He had very strong opinions on modern poetry (as in it not really being poetry at all) and the superior verse form which is the limerick. I started out on my task of twitting him: first, by mentioning that I particularly liked the limericks of Edward Leary, and had never quite gotten used to the fifth line not have the same rhyme word (and usually a identical construction) as the first one. He soon disabused me of my fantastically absurd notion. The we moved on to a factoid which I found highly amusing. many people who take poetry seriously (and that includes folks from the only if it rhymes and scans school as well as dyed in the wool free verse modernists and posts) dismissed the limerick as a minor poetic form at best. This was enough to launch the fellow into the atmosphere, and I feared for my life upon his re-entry. He raged and raged for many minutes, which is a difficult thing to do in chat form. I quickly began trying to extract myself from the situation. I assured him these were not my feelings, as I found the occasional well-written limerick a momentary joy, and I was not very passionate about them either way in the Grand Scheme of Things. It was then that he uttered an expletive or two, and we stood there (on our fingertips as it were) silently mouthing our despair like fish out of water before deciding that the day was getting on without us and we departed. It was the last time we were to speak.
