It’s been a while since the U invented a new apple. There was the Zestar, which sounds like a financial services company. There was the ­SweeTango (pronounced Sweeta-N’-go — OK, just kidding), which was a big hit. Perhaps you heard of the Rave, which is the official name for the latest piece of gene splicing. It’s described as “outrageously juicy with a refreshing and snappy zing.”

This distinguishes it from the juicy one with the zingy snap, if you’re making tasting notes, or the one that’s “offensively juicy with a tart crisp finish” and the apple that’s “juicy to the point of public scandal, with a crisp finish of tarty snapness.”

They’re all zingy and snappy and tart and crisp. While the apple experts can tell a ­SweeTango from a Rave from a Zestar, I think most of us would just take a bite and say, “That’s good. Top notes of apple, apple-y in the chew segment, with an apple finish of tart, crisp apple. What do you call this?”

“An apple.”

You wonder about the failures that we never heard about.

The Burlapple: Chewy, notes of twine.

The Granny Smite: As sour as the comment sections of a political website.

The Muckintosh: Mealy as a mouthful of dry Cream of Wheat and saliva, with an explosive finish — meaning, you spit it out. You’ll want to pull the stem like it’s a grenade and throw it.

The SweeRavStar: It has all three super-apples in one fruit. The Turducken of Apples!

That last one might work. Get on it, U, because while you were basking in the glory of past apple successes, Washington State University invented ... the Cosmic Crisp.

It’s a blend of the Enterprise and Honeycrisp apples, developed by putting them in a dimly lit room and playing romantic music. And you thought pandas were slow to mate? Apples take forever.

The WSU website says the fruit possesses a “remarkably firm texture,” which is great if you’re always running out of tennis balls, and it is “an excellent eating apple.”

That’s good; I’m partial to edible apples.

Anyway, your serve, U.

Invent something that lasts two years; automatically falls into wedges; is zesty, sweet, tart and firm; is so outrageously juicy that it borders on indecent; has no core, and doesn’t bruise if you kick it into a brick wall.

Then get to work on the self-destructing zucchini.

No, belay that. A neighbor just dropped off another bushel.

Do the zucchini first.