There’s actually a new show about this on the Discovery Channel called Whale Wars. I haven’t seen it yet but I heard it’s pretty good.

Via Unstructed.

Wondrich takes Colbert back to the Great Depression and mixes The Original Daiquiri – consisting of (smuggled) Cuban rum, sugar, and the juice of half a lime, shaken over ice.

Next on the menu, Wondrich blends a Civil War era drink made with whiskey, bitters, sugar, and a hint of lime – which Stephen suggests could have possibly been the cause of the war.

Finally, Wondrich unveils the greatest Colbert Bump of all time – The Colbert Bump Cocktail –  a special blend of cherry liqueur (cherry brandy), a few “liberal” pours of good ole’ Republican gin, and lemon juice (to keep away the scurvy). It may not be the manliest drink at the bar (could also be called the cherry blossom?), but if you order The Colbert Bump the next time you’re at the bar, you will undoubtedly get laid – I promise (you just might have to cross the tracks and head to West Hollywood to do so).

Because in just a few hours the mid-summer classic will commence, and because you probably spent so much money on your tickets that you can no longer afford a drink at the game, we’ve compiled a list of necessary alcohol smuggling devices that any fan of sports and drinking will appreciate.

The products are in no particular order, because we don’t want to offend any one device…

The Beer Belly

The Beer Belly is one of the most creatively designed alcohol smuggling devices to date. It functions in the same way the CamelBak does to hydrate athletes, only the Beer Belly reduces the process down for the fan who vehemently believes (as he should) that sporting events were made to watch drunk.

It’s going to put you back $34.95 (or $49.95 for the deluxe version) so if splurging on the necessary drinking device means you can’t afford your next few meals, remember, there’s food in beer but no beer in food.

Price: $34.95 at thebeerbelly.com

The Wine Rack

If the Beer Belly is Tommy Fratboy’s partner in crime, the Wine Rack is Sally Sorority Slag’s or Patricia Pirate’s (sunken chest) double-threat.

The chest-flask holds an impressive 750ml or 25oz of liquid, enough to keep any girl of any size saturated (and busty) for several hours.

Price: $29.95 at thebeerbelly.com

Disposaflask/Florida Flasks

One of my favorite drinking companions comes in the form of a collapsible, durable, reusable, freezable, non-metallic, undetectable liquor pouch – essentially a Capri-Sun for men.

I’ve only used Disposaflasks 6oz flask and I vouch for them, but after stumbling on Florida’s finest, I have a new product I need to get my hands on.

Price: Disposaflasks are $0.99 at disposaflask.com while Florida Flasks start at $8.50 at floridaflasks.com

Barnoculars

Binoculars are no longer only designed for allowing fans to see what is happening on-field from the nosebleeds (aka looking for hot chicks in the crowd).

The introduction of Barnoculars to the Alcohol Smuggling Arsenal means any smart fan can bring 16oz (8oz in each compartment) of their favorite liquor inside any stadium without being harassed – it’s genius, really.

The thing I love about this product is that you can bring two types of alcohol in one device (or a chaser if you’re that kinda guy).

Price: $19.99 at prankplace.com

Reef Dram Sandals

After introducing walking to drinking with their bottle-opener soled sandals, Reef ups the ante with the Dram. Located in the sole of each sandal is a 1.5oz flask that makes smuggling high-proof alcohol into any ballpark as easy as getting hit by another man’s piss at the Dodger Stadium troughs.

Reef Dram Sandals are the perfect accent to a pregnant Beer Belly.

Price: #34.99 at amazon.com

Sneaky Shorts

If you’re in the market for smuggling lots of alcohol in places you’re not allowed to and the Beer Belly isn’t quite your style, think about the 24oz Sneaky Shorts, aka the ghetto-booty.

No one will suspect a thing when you reach up you shorts and a golden stream of frothy liquid pours out of your left leg and into your buddys mouth.

Price: $21.95 at cellphoneflasks.com

Sippin Seat

Another promising high-capacity alcohol smuggler comes in the form of a padded seat cushion that stores up to 750ml. Fat guys don’t worry, the Sippin Seat claims to hold over 300lbs of human atop a pillowy bed of booze!

Price: $34.95 at cellphoneflasks.com

According to a bunch of Aussies

This Australian assumption leads me to believe one (or both) of two things–that a) Australian logic fashions itself in the same way their toilets flush–backwards, and/or b) that the sources used in the study that drank the most and showed the lowest percentage of erectile dysfunction had the least amount of sex not because they couldn’t get it up, but because they couldn’t get a girl to come home with them.

Think about it–they drank too much and couldn’t get laid–of course their erectile dysfunction rates proved lowest–they never even had the opportunity.

I’d be more interested in hearing a study that focuses on the heavy drinkers and looks for three things 1) if they puked 2) if they pissed the bed, and 3) if they brought a girl home. I guarantee factors 1 and 2 would carry most of the studies weight.

Most of those people who disagree will find their favorite drink on the list below. For everyone else, enjoy.

Screwdriver – The Julius of cocktails. Also know as the Vod-orange-ka (thank you Michael Scott), the screwdriver says two things about you–one–that your drinking has not progressed since sophomore year of high school (which you clearly missed out on or are just now taking part in) and two–that you will be the target of every 45 year old guy in the bar that does more work in the gym than he does in the office.

Who drinks: High school/College women with an affinity to pretending they’re drunker than they are attractive.

Cape Cod – Substituting the Julius of alcoholic beverages with its older sister doesn’t make you any more of a man or any less of a woman. Additionally, calling a Cape Cod a Vodka Cranberry in public renders your intemperance sub-sophomoric.

Who drinks: High school/College women who think cranberry is a leap from orange.

Fuzzy Navel - Not straight.

Who drinks: Non-heterosexuals. Includes homosexuals, transgenders, and occasionally Keanu Reeves.

White Zinfandel - White Zinfandelites beg for attention but don’t realize that, despite what they read in Teen People, bad attention is not good attention. The problem–no one under fifty respects a man sipping a glass of white zin, and if in the rare case you should swap glances with a cougar sipping on a glass of white zin herself, she knows you won’t be able to get it up when she decides not to drag you home to her cougar den.

Who drinks: Confused males.

Scooby Snacks – Malibu rum, Midori, creme de bananas, pineapple juice and whipped cream sounds about as masculine as you do ordering your frothy shot of diabetes.

Who drinks: A Finnish alcoholic named Ronin at a bar I once worked at. Hopefully no one else.

Anything with a huge chunk of pineapple and an umbrella - Don’t get me wrong, I like pineapple, but any drink that is packed with more fruits than Clay Aiken’s ass should not be ordered indoors.

Who drinks: Homer Simpson said it best — “gay guys and big, fat party animals.”

Scotch - As you sit solemnly in your study composing the final segment of your literary canon, by all means have a glass of Macallan–you deserve it. But if you’re that little chubby guy sitting at the bar wearing a sweater vest and scarf that thinks a glass of Cutty Sark straight from the well will fool Lindsay into believing you know what you’re talking about when you erroneously make a pompous reference to James Joyce’s greatest work–Babylon Revisited–go home, read some Fitzgerald, take off that sweater, and when you finally realize you went home alone not because she had too much baggage but because you had too much douchebaggage, give it another shot, two shots rather–of tequila–one for Lindsay and one for your sorry ass.

Who drinks: Most males in sweaters (especially wool turtlenecks) that aren’t already drinking cocktails with huge chunks of pineapple (some classy men can pull Scotch off at a bar, but most adhere to drinking scotch in their homes).

Jersey Turnpike - If you are, or drink any of the aforementioned, the Jersey Turnpike is retribution for displaying impudence toward traditional alcohol consumption protocol.

How it’s made: After mixing and spilling hundreds of drinks on their rubber spill mat, the bartender pours what remains from the mat into a shot glass for one lucky drunk. Whiskey, rum, tequila, vodka, wine, schnapps, bitters, dirt, a few dead flies–you name it, you drink it.

Who drinks Few do, everybody should.

Like most people, I lack basic motor skills when I’ve had too much to drink. This might include anything from walking, opening a door, or in this case, putting on a condom.

After it had been established in my brain that I was going to be having sex, the first step was to reach for the condoms. While I may be drunk, my animal-like mind does not like the prospects of having children or herpes.

Without further ado, I present the pictorial progression of last night’s attempt to have safe sex.

I decide that knocking down everything in my path is a good choice. This is the end result. One condom managed to spill out of the box in its rightful place next to the whiteout and lube. I would also like to note that aside from the random objects scattered about, this shelf had been organized in some manner.

At the side of my bed.

The backside of the condom wrapper. As you can tell, I opened it with precision that would make a caveman blush.

This is what is left on my bed. Apparently, removing my sweatshirt and bio study guide was too much work for me to accomplish. I’ll be damned if I don’t know the steps of mitosis by the time I climax.

And finally, the only excuse for this is that I skipped out on 8th grade health class when they put condoms on produce. I think saran wrap and hope would’ve been more effective. I do like the use of the side table to hold my gum. Classy. Not only did I unroll the condom all the way, I then tried to put my limp spaghetti noodle inside its latex housing.

Needless to say, my sexual life hit an all time low. I was more frustrated than a kid with downs trying to solve multivariable calculus. Thank you, alcohol.

Postscript: I would like to mention that the girl that I attempted to have sex with was stone cold sober. In addition to my awful attempts to have sex, I managed to fall out of bed and hit my head on the ground, only to convince her that “evra-sing’s cool” and that this was in fact, standard operating procedure.