my guys, Durham class, started telling jokes at our farewell dinner last night.
i don’t remember how it started, but David said tall, lanky Louis looked like he was Swedish. from that, we joked round the table about what non-Korean country everybody came from.
Ryan’s from Japan, yuk yuk.
Kony’s from Mexico, haha.
Brandon’s from Polynesia.
By the time we got to big-boned Dean–Russian mafia–we were hysterical.
I don’t know why it was so d@mn funny.
I told my students being able to tell jokes in English shows how much they’ve learned.
Our lowest level class is called Los Angeles, and we have a husky-voiced, fast-talking, jet-black-haired 58-year-old in that class. After four weeks, James still has absolutely no w’s, but he’s the life of the class and the first to speak anyway.
My co-teacher Julie has kept her age (31) a secret from the students, and they’re always trying to needle it out of her.
Today, James pointed a crooked finger at Julie and said,
“You. 31. Maybe 32. Hmm, at most 35.”
Julie: “You. Get out.”
James: “Ahhhhh. Maybe true.”