In remembance of sacrificed frogs

We did frog dissection in fourth grade. That day my classmate Jam Jover was rushed to the clinic because she felt dizzy after seeing blood. Joseph Reapor's frog was pregnant; all of them in the group looked terrified. Ours was, well, ordinary, except that we had a hard time pinning its limbs.

The next frog I cut open was in a class in Bio 11, seven years later. It was Valentine's Day. I was groupmates with Wegs Pedroso, Juanchi Pablo, and Ciara Alberto. I "obtained" nine frogs for the entire class--obtained being the operative word. That means I went inside the huge cage (at the back of Zoology Bldg.) where frogs were bred, took them by hand, and placed them inside a plastic bag.

Now I'm done with frogs but stuck with mice. But each dissection--or operation--I perform still gives me that thrill...that sick feeling that comes with killing an organism for the "advancement of science."

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A dialogue between two frogs:

“Hey, can I ask you something? Why do human children dissect us?”

“It’s part of their education. They cut open our bodies in school and write reports about their findings.”

“Huh. Well, I guess it could be worse, right? I mean, at least we’re not dying in vain.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, our deaths are furthering the spread of knowledge. It’s a huge sacrifice we’re making, but at least some good comes out of it.”

What follows is really, really funny.