Rob vs. The Billion-Year Contract
More Rob + Eli mischief:
Rob is infamously opinionated. The man has two cents on absolutely everything you can imagine.
For a while, the Church of Scientology became the particular target of his ire.
So naturally, we started stopping by the Edmonton church from time to time just to… ask questions.
If you’re unfamiliar with Scientology’s origin story, you should look it up. It’s a dystopian sci‑fi fever dream involving an intergalactic space gangster called Xenu driving flying volcanoes into each other, and the resulting explosions were powerful enough to wipe out entire civilizations.
Y’know, totally normal religion stuff.
One afternoon Rob and I were stoned and up to no good, which is generally the starting condition for most of our stories.
So we wandered into the church.
There was one guy who worked there we’d spoken to before. A francophone kid in his early twenties. Nice enough guy. We’ll call him Marc‑André.
Rob and I had recently read something online we wanted to confirm.
So we asked him.
“Hey Marc,” Rob said. “Is it true you signed a contract with the church?”
Marc‑André sighed.
“Yes.”
“How long is it for?”
Another sigh.
“A long time.”
Rob leaned forward, suddenly very interested.
“How long, buddy?” he asked.
A beat.
Then Rob tried again.
“Wait… was it for a million years?”
Marc‑André shook his head , shuffling nervously in his seat.
Rob’s eyes lit up.
“No wait,” he said, grinning. “Did you sign a one‑billion‑year contract, Marc‑André?”
Marc‑André paused.
Then, with the kind of quiet, defeated regret you only hear from someone realizing their life has taken a strange turn, he said:
“Yes.
A b-beellion years, he stammered, in his Franco -drawl
Rob burst into his iconic cackle,
“HA!”
There are few sounds sadder than a young man admitting he signed a billion‑year contract, followed immediately by Rob’s triumphant cackle.