The Theory of Relativity

After a week flittering around the galaxy, I caught up with my bud, Albert. That’s the poster guy who used to have wacky hair and a Nobel certificate.  He and I were talking over some of his Commandment-like theories when I had my own revelation: Some relatives ought to be chain-sawed off the family tree.

Now as a deceased pack member, I never really spent much time with my littermates. I was whisked away from them at the ripe old age of 6 weeks to join up with another pack. Not much time to get connected or build a history with my siblings. However, my pack members were my surrogate relatives. Some of them were endearing and essential. Then there were those who, well, let’s just say they were memorable.

While kibitzing with Herr Einstein, I mentioned I thought it probably had a lot to do with his notion of Probability. According to physics principles, we’re a mass of energetic particles occupying some space at some time. So really, Probability Theory is just a big Maybe. That’s my point. Some of our relatives are really just a Maybe.

According to one of my close family members, their family tree closely resembled the genealogy of cooked Top Ramen noodles. Inbreeding was rampant with their family’s genetic probability rivaling any poodle breeders (Nothin’ against my poodle brethren).



Grandpa Hennessey



As a Maybe example, let’s take a look at my Grandpa. Now I’ll admit the dude had a suave surname. The Big Guy (my alpha leader) christened him, Hennessey after some amber colored libation he found likable. But Grandpa on more than one occasion tried to kill me. Yup, grandparents, indeed, do eat their young, or in my case, enticing me a time or two in trying to get acquainted with the reflective properties of speeding car chrome bumpers. Grand old Grandpa would cajole me with the possibility of catching some recently grazing deer, only to lure me towards the crosshairs of a traffic-rich thoroughfare.

So what’s the point of all this dribble? No it’s not, “You choose your friends but you can’t choose your family.” That clique, although applicable is not the point. The cosmic message is: some of your relatives aren’t going to become your golfing buddies or knitting partners, but they have a reasonable Probability of enlightening you on how you don’t want to do life. See, no soul is wasted, even those families whose gene pools could use a little more chlorine (another cliques I really like). And that’s Dodger’s Theory of Relativity!

That’s it from the cosmos. Me and Al are off to find out the answer to another crucial galactic question, what’s the meaning of navel lint. See ya next time.-Dodger