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When someone tells a cruel joke at my expense—and it’s funny—I laugh the loudest. This happens quite a bit due to my club foot. I suppose it’s wrong to make fun of someone’s misfortune. But funny is, well, funny.

Take my drinking buddy Leo, for example. He’s polite as can be when sober, but at the bar he’s rude crude and downright verbally abusive. He tells jokes, most of which aren’t funny (although I give credit for effort), but occasionally he hits one out of the park. That makes it all worthwhile because if there’s anything I love, it’s a good belly laugh.

So, last weekend he was trying, really trying. He grabs my deformed limb and says, “I thought my barstool had an extra leg.”

Not funny. But Leo laughs and tries again.

“Hey, Andy,” he says, lazily kicking my brace. Then he told an unfunny joke which I needn’t repeat here. Several guys come over, and menacingly surround Leo.

“Thanks, fellas,” I say. “Take it easy. He’s a friend and he’s drunk.”

The guys step back and chatter among themselves. There was clearly some disagreement between them on how to proceed.

“We’ll spare your friend,” says the biggest guy. “But we want to hear something genuinely funny. Now.”

I look at Leo. He just wasn’t on tonight. He was not going to be funny. If Leo was going to leave the bar in one piece, I had to come up with something quick.

I stand painfully, and call over Leo.

“Leo,” I say. “I need to tell you something.”

Leo zags over to me.

“You think my crooked foot is funny?” I ask. Then I stomped down on his foot powerfully enough to do permanent damage.

“Welcome to the club!”

Leo yelps and the bruisers roar with amusement as we all listen to the cracking of bones. But Leo himself laughs loudest and longest. Since then, Leo and I have been inseparable.