Turmoil and heavy ass shit has come to the three spooky ghosts made famous by Charles Dickens Christmas Carol. As greed and corruption rule in our time, their attempts to haunt billionaires fall on deaf ears. Their warnings bounce off private islands, ketamine therapy, and underground bunkers.

Desperate to save the world and restore Christmas cheer, they must now turn to the one person who can still be haunted for good:

a dumbass stoner named me.

And here’s the whole freaking deal: if I don’t change, Christmas is more dead than Kristi Noem with a new puppy.

Can a nobody change the world?

I don’t know.