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Mr. Nice Guy Seeds. Yeah, the name’s cheeky — borderline smug — but there’s something about it that sticks. Like resin on your fingers after trimming a sticky indica. You hear it once, you remember it. You smell it? Game over. That’s branding, baby.
Now, let’s not get all misty-eyed and poetic about cannabis seeds. They’re seeds. Tiny, brown, tiger-striped little grenades of potential. But when they’re from Mr. Nice Guy? There’s a vibe. A swagger. Like they know they’re gonna grow into something worth writing songs about. Or at least zoning out to Pink Floyd with the lights off.
They’ve got this mix — old-school genetics with just enough modern tinkering to keep things interesting. Not Frankenweed. Just… evolved. You’ll find strains that hit like a freight train, others that whisper sweet nothings to your frontal lobe. Depends what you’re into. Couchlock? Creativity? Paranoia? (Kidding. Sort of.)
I tried their Critical Mass once — grew it in a busted closet with a janky LED I got off Craigslist. Still came out like a champ. Dense nugs, smelled like a fruit stand got into a fistfight with a skunk. Yielded more than I expected, less than I bragged about. Classic grower math.
They don’t flood the market with 500 strains and a bunch of hype. It’s curated. Like someone actually gave a damn. You can tell when a seed bank’s just slapping names on stuff. “Purple Monkey Dishwasher OG” or whatever. Mr. Nice Guy doesn’t play that game. Most of their lineup has roots — real lineage. Afghan, Skunk, Haze. The holy trinity. Stuff your uncle probably smoked in ’78 before he got weird about the government.
And yeah, germ rates are solid. Not perfect — nothing is. But you’re not gonna get a bag of duds. Unless you’re cursed. Or storing them in your glove box in July. Don’t do that.
Customer service? I mean, who cares, right? You’re buying seeds, not a mattress. But still — they answer emails, they don’t ghost you, and they don’t act like they’re doing you a favor. That’s rare. Most seed banks either treat you like a criminal or a 12-year-old. Mr. Nice Guy? Just chill. Like a dude in a Hawaiian shirt who knows his way around a grow tent.
Shipping’s discreet. Like, “grandma wouldn’t notice” discreet. Which is good, because grandma’s nosy. And the packaging — it’s not flashy, but it’s not sketchy either. Just enough effort to say, “Yeah, we care.”
Is it the best seed bank on Earth? I don’t know. That’s a dumb question. It’s like asking if a band is the best ever. Depends on the day. The mood. The weather. But I’ll say this — when I want something reliable, something with a little soul, I check their catalog first. And usually, I stop there.
So yeah. Mr. Nice Guy Seeds. Not just a clever name. Though it is a clever name. Bastards.