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Gary Payton seeds. Man, where do I even start with these? You crack open a pack and it’s like—boom—this weird little promise of something loud, something sharp. Not just another cookie-cutter hybrid. These things have attitude. Like the name suggests, they don’t play nice. They talk trash and back it up.
First time I grew them, I didn’t even know what I was in for. Thought it’d be another hyped-up strain with a celebrity name slapped on it. But nah. These plants came up strong, like they had something to prove. Thick stalks, tight internodes, leaves with that deep, almost waxy green. They looked pissed off. In a good way.
And the smell? Jesus. Mid-flower and the whole room started reeking of sweet funk—like someone spilled a bag of sour candy in a diesel-soaked gym bag. Not for the faint of nose. You either love it or you leave the room gagging. No in-between.
Yield’s solid, not insane. But every nug is dense, frosted, and loud as hell. You don’t need a pound when a few zips will slap you sideways. I’ve seen seasoned smokers take two hits and just sit there blinking. Like, “Wait, what just happened?” That kind of high. Creeps up, then smacks you like a brick wrapped in velvet.
Genetically, it’s a cross between The Y and Snowman—both Cookies family. Which makes sense. You get that creamy, doughy thing in the background, but it’s buried under layers of spice, citrus, and something almost chemical. Like fresh tennis balls and burnt sugar. Weird, right? But it works.
Honestly, I don’t even care about the THC percentage anymore. Everyone’s chasing numbers like it means something. Gary Payton doesn’t need to flex—it’s got presence. You feel it in your chest. In your spine. Makes your brain fizz like soda pop. Then you’re either cleaning your whole damn house or forgetting how to use a remote control. Depends on the day.
Oh—and the bag appeal? Stupid. Frosted like it snowed inside the jar. Purple streaks, orange hairs, trichomes like crushed diamonds. You open it and people lean in like, “Yo, what is that?”
But here’s the thing. It’s not beginner-friendly. These seeds need attention. They’re not fussy, just . . . intense. You slack off on feeding or airflow, they’ll let you know. Fast. Leaves curl, colors shift, they start throwing tantrums. But dial it in? You’ll be rewarded. Big time.
I’ve run a lot of strains. Some come and go—trendy, forgettable. Gary Payton sticks. It’s got that staying power. Like a song you didn’t even like at first but now it’s on every playlist. You keep coming back. You don’t know why. You just do.
So yeah, if you’re thinking about growing it—do it. But don’t half-ass it. These seeds deserve respect. They’ll test you. And if you pass? You’ll have something special. Something that hits hard, smells wild, and makes people say, “Damn, what is that?”