August 5, 2026

Memorial High School’s Detention Hall Now Offers Therapy Goats

Memorial High School’s Detention Hall Now Offers Therapy Goats

In an unconventional approach to discipline, Memorial High has replaced detention monitors with trained therapy goats that headbutt students into self-reflection. “Nothing inspires remorse like a 90-pound goat judging your life choices,” explained Principal Hendricks, scratching behind the ears of Buttercup, the program’s star therapist. The goats – all named after famous philosophers – specialize in different interventions: Nietzsche headbutts for laziness, Plato stares down poor excuses, and Socrates keeps asking questions until students admit their mistakes.

The program has been remarkably effective, with recidivism rates dropping 87% since implementation. Students report the goats have an uncanny ability to sense guilt, with particularly stubborn cases receiving the “full Aristotle” (simultaneous headbutting from two goats while a third eats their homework). The psychology department is studying the phenomenon, though their research keeps getting derailed when the goats eat their notebooks. Surprisingly, the football team has started voluntarily attending detention, having formed an intense bond with goat therapist “Tiny Lombardi” who somehow understands cover-two defenses.

Controversy erupted when several goats were caught accepting bribes of granola bars to go easy on popular students. The program has since implemented strict ethics guidelines and random snack checks. Meanwhile, the drama club is preparing a production of “12 Angry Goats,” and the yearbook staff is fighting over who gets to photograph “Goat Court” sessions where particularly egregious offenders face a tribunal of five disgruntled Boers. As finals approach, the goats are preparing for their busiest season – the annual “Senioritis Purge” where they must convince dozens of checked-out students that yes, graduation still requires passing grades.

Annabelle Bransford

Hi, I’m Annabelle Bransford, Memorial High School’s unofficial satirist-in-residence and proud founder of The Daily Detention—a publication so edgy it’s been banned twice and resurrected three times, like a sassy phoenix with a flair for detention slips. I write satire because someone has to hold the line between cafeteria chaos and gym class tyranny. Whether I’m exposing the secret emotional feud between our Algebra teacher and Euclid, or investigating why the pep rally feels like an ancient ritual sacrifice, I try to speak truth to hallway power. Sure, I’ve been called “disruptive,” but mostly by people who wear lanyards unironically. My work has been read by at least two janitors, my entire AP English class, and one substitute teacher who thought it was a cry for help. I consider that range. When I’m not sharpening my wit, I’m dodging group projects, winning banned book club trivia, or mentoring the school's AI Isn’t Funny Club (membership: just me and 17 bots I’ve emotionally manipulated). I’m also a National Merit Semi-Finalist, certified eye-roller at Student Government meetings, and the only girl in school who’s been accused of “weaponizing irony.” My goals? Keep writing, keep laughing, and one day publish a satirical exposé called Yearbook Superlatives and Other Lies. If you want something sugarcoated, try the bake sale. If you want the truth with a punchline, I’m your girl. I've landed a sweet job at Bohiney Magazine, so don't bother me. EMAIL: annabelle@bohiney.com

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