Whenever I get a package of jelly beans, I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species. To this end, I hold jelly bean duels. Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them cracks and splinters. That is the "loser," and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to go another round. I have found that, in general, the brown and red jelly beans are tougher, and the newer blue ones are genetically inferior. I have hypothesized that the blue jelly beans as a race cannot survive long in the intense theater of competition that is the modern candy and snack-food world.Occasionally I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or pointier, or flatter than the rest. Almost invariably this proves to be a weakness, but on very rare occasions it gives the candy extra strength In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment.When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one jelly bean, the strongest of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to:The Jelly Bean Company, A Division of Mars, Inc. Hackettstown, NJ 17840-1503 U.S.A.along with a 3x5 card reading, "Please use this jelly bean for breeding purposes."This week they wrote back to thank me, and sent me a coupon for a free 1/2 pound bag of jelly beans. I consider this "grant money". I have set aside the weekend for a grand tournament. From a field of hundreds, we will discover the True Champion. There can be only one.