Time was, all you mokes who couldn’t find your way to proper punctuation with two Ticonderoga pencils and a flashlight would at least accept correction. Those days are gone, and now we need some boundaries. Being shut out of map names is one thing. Even if showing possessive is my actual role, I’m not supposed to do geography. So I don’t. But you’re always playing some kind of Punctuation Pin the Donkey. You just stick me anywhere, without looking. To be clear, making nouns plural is not my job. “Lemon’s 2 for $1.” Come on. This goes for proper nouns, too. Let’s take your Christmas cards signed “The Smiths’.” You’ve got me lurching back and forth at your name’s end, like the last runner in Crack the Whip. There are six, seven, maybe ten each of you Smiths, or Johnsons, or whoever you are. Someone can remember to 9, add S, and leave me out. And the worst – the absolute worst – is what you do to me in homophones. Didn’t you pay attention in elementary school? You were supposed to build a foundation back then. You know, for your future. Not to mention mine. While words may sound alike, I only belong in contractions. They’re, not there. You’re, not your. It’s, not its. That last one is what we call the exception proving the rule: possessive with no apostrophe. That’s English for you. Now remember, it’s only an idiot who uses its for it is. Work with me, people. Please.