I first became aware of this fine work when my dumb bitch of an ex-girlfriend attempted to read it during one of her brief and ineffectual attempts to appear smarter than she actually was. Being accustomed to the morass of condescending relativism and corporate-sponsored feelgoodery known as Oprah's Book Club, she quickly lost interest and cast it aside. Despite my near absolute certainty that the book would contain no giant robots or gratuitous sex scenes I decided to start reading it myself, if only to show that dumb bitch up.

The first third or so sort of plods along seemingly without rhyme or reason, and I admit that I was starting to wonder when the damn Count was going to show up and kick some ass already. However, what at first seems like one pointless tangent after another is actually a set-up for one of the biggest mindfucks in the history of literature. The Count of Monte Cristo is one bad ass mofo that will rock your face off. His plans for revenge border on the comically insane, fortunately none of his enemies are Batman so everything goes off without a hitch in the end. Come to think if it, The Count of Monte Cristo is like what would happen if Batman and the Joker were really the same person. Holy shit, I just blew my own mind.