Oh, the gall of those who would cast seeds of corruption in our hardy American soils, those plump capsules of potential prosperity and growth! Dear reader, have you ever taken a moment to consider the gall of your lawmaker's oatmeal? Unlikely. But allow me, your humble and ironical scribe, to take you on a thrilling journey back to the scandalous hayday of the Congressional Seed Distribution. Picture the scene: a bright-eyed dawn stretching over the emerald beds of yore, the dew-kissed bellies of cabbages glistening like an overexcited scribe’s forehead. Enter our protagonist: a humble farmer, clothed in the colors of the determined proletariat, clutching the bib of his overalls as if it were a ticket to salvation - which, indeed, for a time, it was. For no sooner than he planted the seeds bestowed upon him by his grinning congressman, he awoke to a bountiful garden paradise worthy of Eden. But as they say, if it seems too good to be true, it's probably a government program. And thus takes flight our tale of agricultural scandal, a delicious stew of seed-based maleficence, a bureaucratic bouillabaisse if you will. The USDA, less an acronym for a government department than a grim warning from an old timey seer (U Sure Darn Afflicted), took hold of the patent office's poverty relieving scheme in 1862 and bloated size and cost like a prizewinning marrow. It began innocently enough. What’s so sinister about a few million congressional seed packets being thrown across this wide land like confetti on the alter of agricultural prosperity? But, oh dear reader, what a tragic error of innocence. As the program grew, so did the pockets of our noble, seed-hurling lawmakers; overweight with the lush promise of a politicized propagation. And what prey does this breed? Not the humble tomato or humble revolution-sparking tea, I’ll tell you now. Nay, it breeds overreach, the outrageous barring of our free will to toil in our soil, replaced with a mandate to plant the government’s green-plumed fowl. Goodbye heirloom tomatoes, hello "Congress Golden Nuggets." Farewell rewarding hours spent nurturing our own produce from seed to plate, in comes the age of ‘you’ll plant what you’re told to plant, and by Jove, you’ll like it’. Rumours of bribed botanists and crooked congressmen whisper on the wind, scandals the likes of which would make even a pumpkin blush. The unchecked power became a thriving vine of corruption, choking the life out of our industrious farmers, and most heartbreakingly, their fertile dreams. Until, alas, in 1924 the program died, like a carrot left to rot in the sun, shrivelled and pitted with the scars of its own decay. A heart-wrenching close to an institutional abomination. Dare we ask about the wistful farmer, left pending in the winds, mourning the loss of his profligate sowing? Don't worry, reader, he found his relief the only way a true farmer can, through the sweat of his brow and the strength of his arms, cultivating his field as he sees fit, no longer a pawn of congressional overreach. In the grand misty tapestry of American history, this tale stands out, an unsightly carrot in our glorious pumpkin pie. A stark reminder of the dangers of government overreach and the sheer nerve of political instrumentalization. So, dear reader, nestle into your snug beds tonight and remember: always keep a vigilant eye out for seeds of scandal. They're never quite as sweet as they seem.