I can handle the "thong rule," but this is fucking ridiculous

Came home to the crappy apartment today, and found one of those rolled up pieces of paper tucked between the doorknob and the door, which meant another note from "management." Usually, these missives are dry announcements, along the lines of "we're testing the alarm system today. Don't be alarmed." (Redundancy, and possibly dry wit, is actual). Or a note about where to park, or how to receive packages after hours, or what to do if you're so impossibly stupid that you lock yourself out of your apartment (which I cannot possibly fathom).

So as I was pouring a cocktail and deciding whether or not to go on the Karen Carpenter diet plan tomorrow, I started perusing the scroll handed down from on high.

It starts off innocently enough, addressing the Pool Rules and Regulations:

• Proper swim wear in required, which does NOT include jeans, cutoffs, or thongs. Okay, that makes sense. After all, we're not on a campus in Gainesville, FL, so who the hell wants to see jorts? And since Charlize Theron, Carla Gugino, Kristen Bell and Kate Beckinsale don't live in my apartment complex, I'm okay with the thong rule, too.
• NO PETS are allowed in the pool or on the pool deck. Again, that's fine. I tried to give one of the kids a bath last weekend, and if she had claws, I would have looked like an epileptic in a fencing class.
• NO GLASS, ALCOHOL or TOBACCO is permitted anywhere in the pool area. Possession of alcohol will result in immediate expulsion. EXCUSE ME? WHAT THE FUCK?

Look, "no glass" makes perfect sense in an area where people are walking around without shoes, and has long been a rule at pool big and small. I'm increasingly aware that the world isn't very welcoming those of us who choose to partake of the sweet, sweet smoky treats. So I can live (perhaps a day longer?) with that rule, too. But NO ALCOHOL? Isn't this a frakkin' POOL? What else is there to do at a pool besides sit in a lounge chair, listen to your iPod, read a book and knock down a few cold ones?! The pool is only a short walk from my front door, and I'm not that good with geography, but I didn't realize that in about 50 paces, I could wind up in Provo.

Are you fucking kidding me? How else to drown out the squeals of the unsuccessful contraception that even Led Zepplin blasting through the earbuds can't diffuse? Doesn't "pool" and "beer" just go together? Isn't this a seemingly inalienable right? What kind of nonsense is this, and where the fuck have I moved? When I signed the lease, I didn't see a creationist mural painted on the walls of the office, or notice a wrought iron "AA" on the security gate.

I guess if I should decide to drag my ass out to the pool, and avoid the harpoons, I'll have to go to plan B, which is a delightful concoction of lemonade and vodka, toted in several several plastic bottles, and masquerading as an innocent and refreshing summertime elixir. Come "inspect" my thermos, LifeDouche, and I'll cut a bitch.