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Chiquita Banana seeds. Yeah, the name’s ridiculous—but don’t let that fool you. These little suckers grow into something wild. Not your average backyard bud. No, this is the kind of strain that makes you forget what you were saying mid-sentence, then laugh about it for ten minutes straight. It’s got that sticky-sweet, tropical funk—like someone smashed a banana into a pine tree and lit it on fire. In a good way.
People toss around the word “potent” like it means something. This stuff? It’ll knock your socks off, then ask where your socks went. THC levels can hit the high 20s, sometimes more if you treat her right. She’s not the easiest plant to grow—finicky, a little moody, needs attention. But damn, when she flowers? Dense, frosty nugs that smell like a fruit stand exploded. You’ll want to stare at them. Maybe talk to them. Maybe write poetry.
Indica-dominant, but don’t expect couch lock right away. First it’s all giggles and “wow, everything feels like velvet,” then—bam—you’re horizontal, watching shadows dance on the ceiling. Good for pain, anxiety, insomnia. Or just zoning out and listening to Pink Floyd for four hours straight. I’m not judging.
Growing from seed takes patience. Some phenos lean more banana, others more diesel. Roll the dice. That’s half the fun. Indoors, she likes warmth, steady humidity—none of that dry-ass air. Outdoors? She’ll thrive if you’ve got sun and no nosy neighbors. Smell travels. A lot. Like, “your mailman might ask questions” levels of loud.
And yeah, the name’s goofy. But who cares? You’re not buying a name. You’re buying a damn experience. A vibe. A trip to the tropics without leaving your couch. Or your basement. Or wherever you light up.
Seeds aren’t always easy to find. People hoard them. Clone their favorite phenos like they’re guarding treasure. And honestly? They kinda are. If you get your hands on some, treat them like gold. Or bananas. Or golden bananas. Whatever.
I’ve grown her twice. First time was a disaster—overfed, overwatered, under-loved. Second time? Magic. Learned to listen. She tells you what she needs if you’re paying attention. Yellowing leaves, curling tips, that weird smell when she’s stressed. It’s like raising a weird, leafy child that gets you high.
Anyway. If you’re looking for something basic, skip this one. But if you want a challenge—with a hell of a payoff—Chiquita Banana might just be your girl. Just don’t smoke a full joint alone. Trust me. Or don’t. I’m not your mom.