Mistah, c'n I ax you somethin'?

I subbed yesterday and got a little fed up about, well, a lot, really. Seventh graders. Man.
As usual, I’m not sure school is what they need, and I’m not just being facetious. From the teacher’s end, I want them to sit, quietly. But, c’mon. They’re 12-14 – or 25, depending – and sitting quietly from nine to three makes no biological sense whatsoever.

Anyway, at one point I interrupted all the shrieking – “shrieking” to me, “regular conversation” to them – to pick up the trusty dry-erase marker and say, “Okay, we’re gonna play a game of charades now. [“Oh, I love charades. I wanna go first”] Sorry, not charades, pictionary. And you don't get a turn.”

Then I drew what I hoped was a picture of a hatchet.

“Ax.” “Or ‘axe.’” [No, of course nobody said that, but wouldn’t that have been amusing?]
“That’s right.”

Then I drew a picture of a head with a speech bubble that had a question mark in it.

“Talking.” “A cartoon.” “A question.”
“Okay, what do you say when you’re ‘talking’ a ‘question’?”
“Ax.”
“NO! That’s my point. Ask. A-S-K. Ask.”
“Ax.”
“Ask.”
“Ax.”
“Good grief!”

Then I drew a picture of a butt. I wrote “ass+k.”
Finally, after a lot of "hey, he drew a ass," I heard, “Oh, I get it.”
“Okay. Try it. Asss-k.”
“Assssukuh.”
“Ask.”
“Ax.”
“Asssssk.”
“Asssssukuh.”
“Good enough.”

I may have put them on the managerial track at McDonald’s now.