The good news is that group two, after years of important research, has rid the world of cucumber burps.
The onslaught of annual seed catalogues began this week, arriving in the mail, trumpeting new strains and varieties of flowers and vegetables that any dolt with a minimum of talent can grow.
That's me.
One featured a cucumber on its cover. With its "thinner skin" and "more digestible" innards, the new cuke was advertised as "burpless."
Add that to the growing list of problems the new Obama administration must solve immediately. Barack? Take a day off. We've got the cucumber gas crisis under control.
Along with "burpless" cucumbers, the catalogue features "seedless" tomatoes of all varieties.
That's just plain sad.
Never given the option by their scientific creators, these tomatoes were born without the ability to reproduce.
While I remain in awe of the scientific boredom that must have spurred botanists onto glory, I also am left with a simple question: "Who asked for that?"
Were the insides of tomatoes really bothering that many of you? Were your letters to the editor of this fine newspaper returned unanswered? Did you lose sleep worrying about seeds between your teeth?
If it's not an inconvenient aspect of the plant's cell structure science is correcting, it's the number of prize winners the plants produce. The Climbing Trip-L-Crop tomato is claimed to grow to 15 feet long and yield three bushels per plant.
That's a lot of burping.
If, indeed, I need guidance in forever altering the staples of the American diet, is it a geek in a white lab coat whom I should trust?
No way.
When it comes to messing around with Mother Nature, I turn instead to a biker.
Being a proud longtime low-life scruffy scum HOG member myself, I was ecstatic to find, there on page 108, a hot pepper hybrid named "Biker Billy." Biker Billy, a.k.a. William Hufnagle, is described as a "renowned chef and TV host." He helped to develop one of the hottest and spiciest jalapenos around.
Apparently, it's for people who don't feel sufficiently threatened by food.
I've grown some really hot peppers and would be willing to take the Pepsi Challenge with ol' Biker Billy any day of the week. The one thing I have yet to achieve (and the reason I'm doffing my Softail do-rag to the big bearded boy) is to have a plant named after me.
Sergeant Paulsen Pepper?
Hot Scott?
Burpless Yakker?
If you need me, I'll be up in the greenhouse, dressed in my leathers, splicing some genes. I'm working on a sneezeless radish that tastes like chocolate, grows hair, strips fat and doubles income.
Take another day off, Barack.
To hear Scott Paulsen's column, visit www.observer-reporter.com. He can be heard each weekday afternoon from 3-7 p.m. on 1250 ESPN Radio.