*Warning: Some of these videos contain language not suitable for work, young children, or really anyone else who isn't a jerky dunk tank clown. Watch with caution.

People who grew up attending the nearby Brockton Fair have a real reason to be afraid of clowns. Well, not all clowns, necessarily--just one in particular.

After all, we can still hear his taunting calls and maniacal laughter in our nightmares.

"Hey fat boy! Yeah, you, liver lips! Don't be so cheap and spend a few bucks trying to Soak the Bloke!"

Dollar after dollar, pitch after pitch, the ball would always miss the dunk tank's target, that sweet spot that would lead to sweet revenge for the years of insults, but yet was always so close but so far away.

"High and dry, baby! High and dry! You couldn't get me wet in a rainstorm without an um-bah-rellllllla! HIGH AND DRY!"

Perhaps no one was as good at their job, and relished in it, as much as that clown was and did. Almost everyone who tried to dunk the clown found futility in the endeavor, no matter how much money they spent or how well they hurled a baseball.

"High and dry!"

And heaven forbid you brought a date to the Brockton Fair, and tried to impress her with your clown-dunking skills.

"Hey honey, why are you with this wimp? Climb on up here and sit next to a reeeeealllllllll man. Don't worry about getting dunked, girlie, there's no way he'll hit the target!"

When I was a kid, I would have given anything to take pitching lessons. I didn't even play baseball, and had no intention to--I just wanted to Soak the Bloke, and get at least a little measure of satisfaction. Anything just to put a stop to that grating, nails-on-a-chalkboard voice and ridiculous laugh.

But in all actuality, we loved every minute of it. We'd spend hours hanging around the dunk tank, listening to his insults, appreciating the art form of absolutely destroying someone else's self-confidence while you yourself were wearing face paint and baggy pants.

The Brockton Fair dunk tank clown was a legit legend.

From all accounts, it appears his real name is Kenny Dickman (seriously). He was recently featured in a documentary called Dunk Tank Clowns.

I haven't been to the Brockton Fair in a long, long time, and it appears Kenny (or whoever the clown from my childhood was) has moved on, replaced by someone else. It's still the same cigarettes-and-whiskey-tinged laugh, but the insults just aren't as biting.

So let's take a minute to honor the true O.G. of Soak the Bloke, and wish him well, wherever he may be.

Thanks for the memories, Liver Lips.

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