Summer is now in full swing. Soon municipal mandates will be tacked to telephone poles and stoplights with water restriction schedules: no flushing the toilet during odd numbered hours; no lawn watering except from 5:45am-6:00am on Monday, Wednesday and Friday; and no Bourbon and water-you've got to take it straight, in the interest of saving water.

But water parks can keep their faucets running, even in a severe drought. Even though the statistics are skewed on how much child-urine actually supplements the municipal water used to fill the wave pools, lazy rivers and lubricate the water slides, water parks seem to be exempt from these restrictions.

Foot fungus and fake gold chains aside, I love going to water parks for one reason: the people-watching is phenomenal. Metropolitan water parks are like all-inclusive resorts for rednecks who never met a funnel cake they didn't like. The sheer amount of bad mullets and shoulder blade tattoos I've catalogued could fill volumes of anthropological journals studying Homonus Redneckus.

Rednecks buy the water park season pass to find a mate so they can find a comparable Redneck family to marry their daughter into. Basically, the dowries at these water park swap meets can get pretty incredible, for example: a mint condition Beanie Baby collection (tags attached), free Dish TV, and a down payment on a 1993 Ford Taurus. That's an awesome Redneck dowry.

Anyway, around 37% of all male patrons at a water park have a mullet, which is old news. Making fun of mullets and the men who have enough Billy Ray Cyrus in them to grow a mullet is a routine bit for any amateur comedian.

But there is an animal that doesn't get near enough attention: The Upper Breast Tattoo.

And the only place to see women bold enough to defile their chests with a Poseidon/Trident tattoo is at your local water park. These tattoos are evident whether the woman is gallivanting around in a sagging two-piece number-or whaling, prone, in a ballooned one piece.

The defiling of the female breast has gone wildly unreported, which is odd because 87% of the women who go to water parks have a tattoo on one or both of their breasts. It is amazing.

I've never been a huge fan of tattoos in general, but every now and again I'll make an exception for a killer upper breast tattoo-they really stand out from the tattoos of barbed wire, Tasmanian Devils, howling coyotes, and naked women that truckers and their children are so fond of.

These women are normally in floral patterned swimsuits that are faded and worn to almost see-through status because it is the same suit they've been wearing since 1987.

I've seen upper breast tattoos of, but not limited to:

Alan Thicke, the yellow rose of Texas, "your name here", double guns, steaming spaghetti and meat balls, kitty cats, a crescent moon, a foam #1 hand, Elvira, a baby bottle, Menudo, heavy machinery, dueling witches, Sean Connery's likeness, my likeness, the Comedy Central logo, and a dancing Haribo gummy bear.

Basically I've seen it all. And I'm sure if you've ever been to a water park you know what I'm talking about. Normally these women are older with significant stretch marks, meaning their breast tattoos look like they are melting or are reflections of themselves in a carnival house mirror.

But even 20 years from now we'll continue to see horrible tattoos stitched across the sagging milk pouches of Redneck women from Jacksonville all the way up to Seattle. And it will never be a pretty sight.

So in the interest of conserving water this summer, don't set up a Crocodile Mile slip ‘n slide in your front yard. Nay, head to your local water park, take some crayons and manila paper, and document all the brutality that you see. It's there, and you don't even have to look that hard.