The double irony of Don Rickles' nickname "Mr. Warmth" was that just underneath the insults and acidic wit for which he was so famous was genuine affection. Love, even. There's a reason why most reactions to his death are in the tone of this one, from comedian Matt Knudsen:

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R.I.P. @DonRickles. One of my biggest regrets is that he never made me feel bad about myself. — Matt Knudsen (@mattknudsen) April 6, 2017

The secret, of course, was that he never made anyone feel bad about themselves. While his preferred style of joke was officially the insult, Rickles didn't come at it like an assassin. He understood that for an insult to work, the object needed to be able to laugh along. Otherwise, the audience would just be a witness to a stabbing. "If I were to insult people and mean it," he said, "that wouldn't be funny." Watch as he gleefully destroys Dean Martin and then-Governor Ronald Reagan, and leaves them and the audience gasping for air and actually wanting more.

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Today, insults seem to come from a place of actual malice. Somewhere along the line, the rules changed: Now, the most important thing is that the person doing the insulting must always look cool. The joke teller must never relinquish the upper hand. Rickles had no time for that. He came at it like the exasperated sitcom father he never had the chance to be. (As with too many great stand-up comics, scripted television had no idea what to do with Don Rickles.) You aggravated him, which gave you the power.

Look at the current Comedy Central Celebrity Roasts, as close as we have come to televised snuff films. (Don't get any ideas, Andy Cohen.) The jokes are borne out of pure loathing, spat directly at loathsome people, with no moment of reprieve. And why should there be one? Should we send Charlie Sheen out with a pat on his head and a reassurance that he's a good guy? What about Ann Coulter? Donald Trump? These people get slaughtered, by people who also get slaughtered, and then you turn off the television and feel deflated.

They do mean it, and it isn't funny. Insult comics and roastmasters used to resemble a playful older brother—now they're more like a cruel stepfather.

The joy in watching Don Rickles was that he always seemed to be riffing. The viewer never got the sense that he slaved away writing jokes—the situation just seemed to draw them out of him. As he told us in 2007, "You can't study comedy; it's within you. It's a personality. My humor is an attitude."

Don Rickles kept his attitude to the very end, long past he would have had a right to hang it up. Compare his recent Hollywood Reporter interview to Jerry Lewis'; who among us wouldn't change places with the guy interviewing Rickles?

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Who would change places with the guy interviewing Lewis?

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Rickles allowed you to be in on the joke—and even when you were the joke, he sent you home with a smile. Even at his most vicious, he brought insult comedy the element it is sorely lacking today: humanity.

Dave Holmes Editor-at-Large Dave Holmes is Esquire's L.A.-based editor-at-large.

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