ILGM – Editor’s Choice (2026)
ILGM is the US‑focused seed bank with a germination guarantee and fast shipping. Trusted by thousands of growers nationwide.
- ✅ Auto-flowering & feminized seeds
- ✅ High germination rate
- ✅ Fast US shipping
- ✅ Excellent customer support
Herbies Seeds
Herbies Seeds offers a huge selection with worldwide shipping. A solid choice for international growers.
- ✅ Wide variety of strains
- ✅ Reliable shipping
- ✅ Good customer service
- ✅ Payment options available
Crop King Seeds
Crop King Seeds offers a variety of Canadian strains. Slightly lower ratings but still a good option for many growers.
- ✅ Canadian strains
- ✅ Reliable shipping
- ✅ Decent customer support
- ✅ Payment options
Aliens On Moonshine Seeds. Yeah, that’s the name. Sounds like a stoner’s fever dream or some late-night cartoon that never made it past the pilot. But no—this is real. Real as the sticky resin clinging to your fingers after trimming a fat, glistening cola. These seeds? They’re not just cannabis. They’re a damn experience.
I don’t know who bred them—some whisper it was a desert-dwelling hermit with a telescope and a vendetta against the government. Others say it was a group of ex-growers who dropped out of the scene after a DEA raid in ‘09 and started experimenting with lunar cycles and biodynamic voodoo. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. What matters is what these seeds do when you grow them right.
The plants? Mutant. In the best way. Not like, “oh wow, this one’s got purple tips” mutant—no. I’m talking twisted, alien-looking leaves, buds that swell like tumors, trichomes so thick they look like frostbite. It’s unsettling. Beautiful. You’ll stare at them for hours, wondering if they’re watching you back.
And the smell. Jesus. Imagine moonshine spilled on a pile of rotting fruit, then set on fire. Sweet, acrid, boozy, sour—it doesn’t make sense, but it works. Makes your eyes water if you get too close. Makes your mouth water too. Confusing. Addictive. Like licking a battery and liking it.
Smoke it? You better be sitting down. Or lying down. Or in a flotation tank. It hits fast—like a slap, not a hug. Your thoughts scatter like roaches under a flashlight. Then they come back, but wrong. Rearranged. You’ll laugh at things that aren’t funny. You’ll cry at commercials. You’ll forget your name, then remember it and feel weird about it. It’s not for beginners. Hell, it’s not for most people.
I grew a batch last fall. Outdoor. Full sun. Fed it compost tea and moonlight. Harvested under a blood moon because—why not? The yield was stupid. Like, “where the hell am I gonna dry all this” stupid. Smelled like a haunted distillery. Smoked like a dream you don’t want to wake up from.
Some folks say it’s too much. Too strong. Too weird. They’re not wrong. But that’s the point. If you want safe, go buy some Blue Dream from a dispensary and call it a night. If you want to talk to God—or something pretending to be God—Aliens On Moonshine is your ticket. One-way. No refunds.
Anyway. I’ve got three seeds left. Saving them for something. Not sure what. Maybe when the world ends. Or begins again. Or just a Tuesday that feels like it might.