The Neti Pot: A Review

The Neti Pot was originally a medieval torture implement used to coerce confessions from suspected witches. It's since been repurposed by the modern age as a homeopathic way to clear the sinuses. If you're tired of eating Sudafed by the handful, or you're a meth head with a cold and can't have your name on the government watch list again, a Neti Pot might be for you. At great personal cost ($14.99), I decided to try this product out and review it for your benefit. In addition, it could possibly aid me as I lay dying of Man Pox, or Tremarian Walking Sickness; the tests the doctors ordered aren't conclusive.

they said these were living inside of me?
The instructions told me to read them in their entirety before attempting the operation, which should have clued me in that shit was about to get real. Last time I encountered wording like that was in sixth grade, and the last direction on the page was to disregard all the other instructions, sign my name, and sit quietly. Of course I didn't read all the directions before starting, so I was drawing triangles and shouting the name of my favorite color while everyone else stared.

These instructions were simple by comparison, but contained strongly wording warnings about how much of the seasoning packet - sorry, solution - I should use. Too little was bad, too much was worse, so I had to experiment. With the liquid I was pouring into my head. Through my face.

Why did I not have to show my license before I was allowed to buy this?

So I read the booklet about the tiny plastic kettle, only slightly horrified by the pictures of smiling people jamming them in their nostrils.

I knew that's what I intended to do, but why were those people so cheerful? Nothing about the process seemed enjoyable. All the videos I've seen on the internet of non-pod people using a Neti Pot involved expressions of grim determination that wouldn't look out of place on trapped miners.

Furthermore, the Neti Pot how-to pictures belong to a series I like to call, "You Know Someone Had to Audition for That." Portfolios were examined, interviews were held, and some lucky girl called her parents that night to say she got the modeling job. "We're so proud of you, sweetheart! What's the shoot for? Clothes? Jewelry?" "No! I'm holding a little watering can in my nose. Isn't that great? Mom? Dad? Hello?"

Bracing myself for the worst, I brought the Neti Pot to nose level. I bent over the sink, trying not to look in my own eyes because of the shame.

I poured.

Salt water raped every part of my face, inside and outside, then shot out from wherever was convenient. I choked, gasped, and heaved, water spewing from places I thought were sacred. Tears streamed down my face continuously, and for a moment I thought the Neti Pot had irrigated my eyes. If I had to describe the experience using as few words as possible, I'd call it a nose enema, or self-waterboarding.

the Abominable Neti strikes again
In support of the Neti Pot, my sinuses were pretty clear when I could draw more than a single ragged breath without coughing up solution. My roommate - who has also been laid low by Mummy Rot - told me his instruction book had better pictures; in his booklet, the model's elbows weren't held high like she was having tea with the damned Queen. This distinction almost killed me.

It'd be a shame to drown in my bathroom, given all the trouble I went through learning to swim.