Girl Scout Cookie Seeds Feminized
If you want to discredit the medical side of Girl Scout Cookie Seeds cannabis, the low-hanging nug seems to be the bizarre naming conventions that stoners have used for years to delineate strains. “‘Green Crack’ doesn’t sound very medical,” and so on, says the NIMBY crowd. These names used to serve an important purpose, as you could tell someone was full of it when they claimed they had Maui Wowie that was clearly Sour Diesel. Bad dealer! Bad!
Now, dispensaries are wising up and using this to their advantage, renaming strains Charlie Sheen, Michael Phelps or most recently Dr. Sanjay Gupta to help them move product. Branding has become paramount for this nascent industry, which is how a rookie like Girl Scout Cookie seeds enjoyed such a meteoric rise in popularity last year. Have a couple rappers — San Fransisco’s Berner and Pittsburgh’s Wiz Khalifa — name-check the latest herb technology and see sales go through the roof. I needed to see if this hybrid was living up to the hype.
To make the cookies, you start with a pretty potent Durban Poison — a landrace strain that grew with little interference or breeding in Africa — which is one of the few 100 percent sativas out there on the market. Combine that with a heavily indica-dominant OG Kush cut that most agree originated in south Florida, and you end up with the Jekyll-and-Hyde of marijuana. The cerebral high of Durban with the body-numbing Kush … what could go wrong?
The nug I wound up with has all the old factory awesomeness of cracking open a box of Thin Mints. Durban Poison tends to smell like generic pine cleaner mixed with simple syrup, while the OG is more on the earthy end of the spectrum, albeit a similar profile. This iteration is an amplification of the candy traits that each subtly possesses — with a structure that leans heavily OG. Look for purps on the sugar leaf, but always against the traditional light green background of the Durban.
As an homage to Wiz, I decide — against my better judgment — to fire up a blunt before the weekend’s divisional playoff games. Even with the tobacco paper, there’s an unmistakable sweetness to the smoke, and it burns evenly and smooth, despite my rusty rolling skills. Still, after four draws I have to snuff it out for later and shift into football mode. Mainly, dealing with day drinkers.
Like a banged up QB, my shoulder has been giving me fits lately as I try unsuccessfully to sleep on my back while it recovers from some phantom trauma. The Girl Scout Cookie seeds are basically an herbal cortisone shot, leaving me ready to high-five with the most annoying of sports fans. I don’t feel much like celebrating, though, with some serious anxiety coming on in waves.
When people talk about paranoia after smoking, I generally attribute it to sativa-dominant strains or eating entirely too much of an edible. It’s what I imagine a coma would be like if you were completely cognizant of your surroundings, unable to speak. I’ve also had this experience enough times to batten down the emotional hatches and ride it out instead of turning to a friend and whispering, “I think I need to go to the hospital.”
