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Larry Cake seeds. Man, where do I even start?
This isn’t your average backyard grow. These seeds—dense little grenades of potential—carry the lineage of Larry OG and Wedding Cake, and you can feel it. Not just in the smoke, but in the way the plant moves through its cycle. It’s got that West Coast swagger, like it knows it’s better than the rest of the tent. And maybe it is.
First time I popped a pack, I didn’t expect much. I’d been burned before—overhyped crosses that smelled like hay and smoked like regret. But Larry Cake? Whole different beast. Sprouted fast, like it had somewhere to be. Thick stalks, fat leaves, that deep green that almost looks blue under the right light. It’s a looker. But looks don’t mean shit if it doesn’t hit.
It hits.
Sweet, creamy inhale—like vanilla frosting left out in the sun. Then the citrus creeps in, sharp and bright, like someone zested a lemon straight into your sinuses. And the high? Heavy. Not couch-lock, but close. Like your limbs are made of warm dough and your brain’s floating somewhere above your skull, giggling at reruns of shows you don’t even like. It’s not for beginners. Or maybe it is, if you want to see God and forget your name for a bit.
Yield’s decent. Not massive, but respectable. She’s not greedy with nutrients, but don’t starve her either—she’ll throw a tantrum. Likes a little extra calcium, I’ve noticed. And she stinks. Like, open-the-tent-and-your-neighbor-calls-the-cops kind of stink. Filters are not optional. Unless you live in the woods. Or don’t care.
Honestly, I’ve grown a lot of strains. Some were pretty. Some were strong. Larry Cake’s both. And she’s got personality. Not every plant does. Some just grow, flower, die. This one feels alive. Like she’s watching you. Judging your playlist. Approving your snacks.
Would I grow it again? Already have. Twice. Might do it a third time just to see if I can push her further. Maybe scrog her. Maybe let her run wild. Depends on my mood. Depends on hers.
Anyway. If you’re looking for something that punches hard, smells like dessert, and grows like it’s got something to prove—Larry Cake’s your girl. Just don’t half-ass it. She’ll know.