dennis
Jedi Council Member
I was a Teenage Vivisectionist
I went to college in the mid seventies and majored in psychology. My individual studies were in physiological psy, thinking that I would go into neurology. The fad at the time was BF Skinner behavioral conditioning, and most students went into that field using lab rats and pigeons as experimental subjects.
There were few students in physio, it was viewed as nerd land. It also meant surgery on the subjects and most students were grossed out by that prospect, preferring to administer bloodless torture like electric shock, fear and food extortion in their investigations.
My senior project was assigned to me by the prof and titled “Electric Spike Potential in Thalamic Regions”. The lab was enclosed in chicken wire to shield against EM interference and had a stereotaxic unit (something like a drillpress with accurate graduated mounting device for holding a precise location of the subject’s head and oscilloscope to record E activity inside.
The rat subjects were kept in their ‘dorm room’ in shoebox sized cages. Most were absolute pets of the students who worked on them, having names and occasional cuddles and snacks. But when they got too old or too wise to participate in the bloodless torture sessions, they fell into my hands.
When I entered the rat dorm they all would stop in unison their scurrying in the cages and look over their shoulder as if to say ‘Oh shit, its him again’.
The profs would decide who my victim of the day would be, usually an oldster who had gotten fat and dingy yellow. They were the ones who knew all the various experiment procedures and were thus not reliable to be conditioned because they didn’t react to terror and bribery as readily as a youngster or ‘virgin’.
The rat had to be first anesthetized. We had a bucket with a lid that we put ether in and threw the rat into. Knocked him out in seconds. Then I had to administer an injection of interperitoneal Nembutal. Translated into English, that’s stick a needle into its stomach and push the drug there.
Then the skull was shaved with electric razor. He was mounted into the drillpress precisely to coordinates. The scalp was bisected and I used a ‘dremel’ type tool to remove a section of the skull. The recording electrode was a home crafted glass pipette extruded to a 1 to 3 micron diameter and bathed in a saline solution.
Once the Electrode was positioned in the Thalamus, various stimulae such as light and touch were administered and the scope recorded the activity. It was really fascinating to watch and hear over the speaker. It crackled like a Geiger counter. Different locations of the thalamus responded to different stimulae in various electrical intensity and frequency. It was very much like flipping a light switch on and off.
The experiment concluded, a problem arose. The rat was still alive but a likely vegetable. There was no place for him back in the old rat dorm. The solution was to inject alcohol into the brain. A quick squirm and stillness. Rat goes into trash can and you write up the experiment.
I thankfully got sick the first time I did this and puked in the lab sink. My freshman assigned helper soon never showed up for lab sessions and I heard later went into the priesthood.
But I had to pass this course to graduate, and I was as trapped as the damn rats. Too late to drop and add. The whole psy department was a big experimental rat maze and I was stuck in the darkest corner you could imagine.
My solution came after about half a dozen sessions into the semester. In the terminology of the times I said “Fuck It, I ain’t doin’ this no more”. I decided to fake the results and squirt the ether and Nembutal down the sink drain (it was strictly accounted). But a rat had to disappear.
I took the old boy out of the building and liberated him on the railroad tracks behind campus. He just sat there looking at me like “what the hell is this”. It was freedom and life and he couldn’t see it, but I left him there anyway. Some mangy stray dog probably came by a few hours later and ate him but my conscience was clear.
If you don’t think this goes on at larger levels and effects your life then you truly are asleep. All you then can hope for is to win the rat lottery and be let go like #7.
But if you wake up a bit you can look over your shoulder before the bastards come into the dorm. Then all you need is a hole in the cage to escape.
Dennis
I went to college in the mid seventies and majored in psychology. My individual studies were in physiological psy, thinking that I would go into neurology. The fad at the time was BF Skinner behavioral conditioning, and most students went into that field using lab rats and pigeons as experimental subjects.
There were few students in physio, it was viewed as nerd land. It also meant surgery on the subjects and most students were grossed out by that prospect, preferring to administer bloodless torture like electric shock, fear and food extortion in their investigations.
My senior project was assigned to me by the prof and titled “Electric Spike Potential in Thalamic Regions”. The lab was enclosed in chicken wire to shield against EM interference and had a stereotaxic unit (something like a drillpress with accurate graduated mounting device for holding a precise location of the subject’s head and oscilloscope to record E activity inside.
The rat subjects were kept in their ‘dorm room’ in shoebox sized cages. Most were absolute pets of the students who worked on them, having names and occasional cuddles and snacks. But when they got too old or too wise to participate in the bloodless torture sessions, they fell into my hands.
When I entered the rat dorm they all would stop in unison their scurrying in the cages and look over their shoulder as if to say ‘Oh shit, its him again’.
The profs would decide who my victim of the day would be, usually an oldster who had gotten fat and dingy yellow. They were the ones who knew all the various experiment procedures and were thus not reliable to be conditioned because they didn’t react to terror and bribery as readily as a youngster or ‘virgin’.
The rat had to be first anesthetized. We had a bucket with a lid that we put ether in and threw the rat into. Knocked him out in seconds. Then I had to administer an injection of interperitoneal Nembutal. Translated into English, that’s stick a needle into its stomach and push the drug there.
Then the skull was shaved with electric razor. He was mounted into the drillpress precisely to coordinates. The scalp was bisected and I used a ‘dremel’ type tool to remove a section of the skull. The recording electrode was a home crafted glass pipette extruded to a 1 to 3 micron diameter and bathed in a saline solution.
Once the Electrode was positioned in the Thalamus, various stimulae such as light and touch were administered and the scope recorded the activity. It was really fascinating to watch and hear over the speaker. It crackled like a Geiger counter. Different locations of the thalamus responded to different stimulae in various electrical intensity and frequency. It was very much like flipping a light switch on and off.
The experiment concluded, a problem arose. The rat was still alive but a likely vegetable. There was no place for him back in the old rat dorm. The solution was to inject alcohol into the brain. A quick squirm and stillness. Rat goes into trash can and you write up the experiment.
I thankfully got sick the first time I did this and puked in the lab sink. My freshman assigned helper soon never showed up for lab sessions and I heard later went into the priesthood.
But I had to pass this course to graduate, and I was as trapped as the damn rats. Too late to drop and add. The whole psy department was a big experimental rat maze and I was stuck in the darkest corner you could imagine.
My solution came after about half a dozen sessions into the semester. In the terminology of the times I said “Fuck It, I ain’t doin’ this no more”. I decided to fake the results and squirt the ether and Nembutal down the sink drain (it was strictly accounted). But a rat had to disappear.
I took the old boy out of the building and liberated him on the railroad tracks behind campus. He just sat there looking at me like “what the hell is this”. It was freedom and life and he couldn’t see it, but I left him there anyway. Some mangy stray dog probably came by a few hours later and ate him but my conscience was clear.
If you don’t think this goes on at larger levels and effects your life then you truly are asleep. All you then can hope for is to win the rat lottery and be let go like #7.
But if you wake up a bit you can look over your shoulder before the bastards come into the dorm. Then all you need is a hole in the cage to escape.
Dennis
