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$100 for OG seeds? Sounds steep—until you’ve actually grown the damn things. Then it’s like, oh. Ohhh. That’s why. These aren’t your average bag seeds from your cousin’s glovebox. These are the kind of genetics that make you whisper to yourself in the grow room, “Holy shit, look at her go.”
OG—Ocean Grown, not Original Gangster, though honestly, both apply. It’s the strain that smells like pine needles got into a fistfight with a gas station bathroom and somehow made it sexy. Funky, earthy, a little citrus if you’re lucky. And the high? Heavy. Like, “cancel your plans and melt into the couch while rethinking your life choices” heavy. But in a good way. Usually.
So yeah, a Benjamin for a pack of seeds might make you flinch. But think about it—each of those little bastards has the potential to become a full-blown monster. A plant that could yield ounces of sticky, resin-dripping flower. And if you know what you’re doing (or even if you don’t, but you try real hard), you’re looking at a return that makes the price tag feel like chump change.
Still, not all OG seeds are created equal. Some breeders slap the name on anything vaguely kushy and call it a day. Nah. You want the real-deal lineage. The kind that traces back to the San Fernando Valley, where the air smells like weed and regret. Look for breeders who’ve been around—who’ve got dirt under their nails and a chip on their shoulder. That’s where the fire comes from.
I’ve grown OG that made my entire apartment smell like someone lit a joint in every room. And I’ve grown OG that looked amazing but hit like a wet sock. It’s a gamble. But when you hit the jackpot? It’s spiritual. Like, you start talking to your plants. Apologizing to them when you overwater. Thanking them when they stack fat colas like they’re trying to win a trophy.
And let’s be real—there’s a flex factor. You tell someone you’re running OG from clone-only stock or a rare seed drop, and their eyebrows go up. Respect. It’s like driving an old-school Impala that still purrs. Not flashy, but everyone knows what it is.
So yeah. $100. For seeds. For potential. For history. For that one perfect joint that makes you forget your name for a second. Worth it? I think so. But don’t take my word for it. Grow it. Screw it up. Try again. That’s the game.
And if you get a pheno that smells like lemon cleaner and diesel exhaust? Clone it. Guard it like a dragon guards gold. That’s your unicorn. Don’t let it go.