KD's post about gigantic pocketknives reminds me of a story my Great-Uncle Alfred told. He'd been a boy in Bohemia who'd moved to Bavaria to become a brewmaster's apprentice, and one of the tricks they'd play was to sneak a bottle or two of the product out in the gigantic pockets of their loose fitting slacks.
One day, the brewmaster, wise to their tricks, had them serve his customers for a long time, knowing they'd be unable to find time to remove the bottles. Being unpasteurized, there was still a bit of "fermentation power" left therein, and after a certain time, the corks exploded out of the bottles in a spectacular waste of liquid bread.
The brewmaster, a grumpy old man if ever there was one, didn't bother to punish his apprentices after that.
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