Where There's Smoke

I was sitting on my back deck, having lunch with my wife and mother in law, when I detected a scent of burning weeds. Weed, actually. "It smells as if someone is exercising their mandated rights," I said, to the initial mystification of my luncheon companions.
I took a quick sniff, and my wife took the cue, breathing in her own clue. We needed to stop for a moment to explain exactly what we were noticing to my mother in law. And from there the discussion turned to the composition of the Declaration of Independence, which legend has it was written on hemp. The one I stood in front of with my wife and son on a Fourth of July many moons ago in Washington D.C. was not hemp, but animal parchment. This explains how it has survived so long and why no one has tried to smoke it.
But I don't live in Washington D.C. I live in California where it is perfectly legal to enjoy some personal use cannabis on a Saturday afternoon. Proposition 64 doesn't give complete and full recreational use and harvesting, but it does mean that a certain learned response from my youth will fall by the wayside: I no longer have to look suspiciously over my shoulder to see who is toking up with the intent of narcing someone out. I can now turn my attention to those who refuse to separate their recyclables.
Which may be the direction Cheech and Chong will be taking in the future. This past week, everyone's favorite stoner duo announced that they would be turning their comic focus in new directions. Like into unpasteurized dairy products as well as getting into importing exotic reptiles and taping and distributing football games without the express written consent of the NFL. Life on the edge with relics from America's past. 
Like the Declaration of Independence. 
And that insatiable hunger for the Family Size bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. 
Making America Great Again.