SUBARU FLAT FOUR powering this lambomino so you could have more flat bedspace :]

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it's that simple.

Though, your bed would likely need some heat dissapation louvers...

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But there was that guy that built one of these Countaches from scratch in his basement using nothing but a Sam's Club 155-piece homeowners tool kit and a pair of tweezers he found wedged in the back of the guest bathroom drawer. How could he do that and you not be able to put a real car back together after a slight fire issue? I mean, how hard could it be?

Okay, it's going to be real hard. Wincingly, eye-wateringly difficult. And expensive. 22 gees for the car looking like the thanksgiving turkey after your no-good brother-in-law has had his way with it is only the beginning.

Parts for this bull are going to cost a wing and a leg, pilgrim.

You could go to Pick A Part every day for 60 years, and never come across a Countach. Sure, lots of Hyundais, an occasional 914, maybe an odd Merkur, but never a child of Sant'Agata Bolognese.

Until today.

There it sits, in between an X1/9 and an old Peugeot 405. The nose is demolished, but slithering around to the back, you see that it is perfect, even down to the four up-turned chrome pipes dominating the center.

Setting down your tool kit, you bow your head in prayer, thankful for the bounty you are about to dismantle.

As you whisper a quick amen, your attention is drawn to a noise in front of you, a creeech, creech, creech. Opening your eyes, you see the source of the sound; a small hispanic man has mounted the Lambo and is proceeding to remove the engine cover with a socket wrench.

"No!" you shout, leaping at the man and knocking him off the car causing him to land on the 405 denting the roof and releasing a family of mimes from the trunk, where they had been living. "Sacre bleu!" one exclaims hiking up his tight black pants and leaping over a discarded civic hood.

This gives you and idea, and while shooing away other intended dismantlers like the last man on earth protecting his fortification from the zombie hordes, you begin to build a barricade around the Countach. Grabbing the civic hood you slam it into the ground behind the lambo, and then locate another, and another. By sunset, you have completely encircled the Countach, and have pushed the fiat and pug off their stands, preventing an easy perch for someone to jump onto your prize.

You order pizza, tipping the delivery guy extra for bringing it into the yard, and then hunker down for the night while disassembling the half-shafts and rear suspension mounts.

The first wave hits when the moon moves behind the clouds. You can hear them shuffling out there and banging weakly against your fortifications. Lamborains. . . lamborains they moan as they attempt to find a point of entry.

You think you have them at bay, and are considering pulling the scissors doors closed and bedding down for the night when a pale hairy arm juts through the opening in the Z28 hood immediately next to your head. Shrinking back and letting out a little girl squeal, you push the arm away and cover the hole with a faux wire wheel cover from a '77 Granada you have handy.

The emergency averted, you close the door and nod off to sleep.

The next morning you are awakened by a blast of light suddenly shining into the car. To your horror, your fortress has been breached! The hoods in the front have been pulled apart and torn asunder by what you can't even imagine.

A loud sound now fills the air, and a dark shape looms into view. A forklift, tossing the hoods every which way and that, rolls to a stop in front of your lair. The driver emerges, orange vest and helmet, and pulls his ear protectors off. "Hey buddy, what'cha doin' in there? You can't stay in there, you can't live in that old Saab!" Old saab?! What was he talking about? This is a Lamborghini Countach, a limited production automobile and the rarest find in the lot and . . . why is there an eagle on the steering wheel? What the? You look around, it's not a Countach, it's a Saab 9000. And a pretty ratty one to boot. The pee small hits you like a wave and you gag and fall out of the car onto the oily dirt below. "But I thought it was a . . . I was sure it was a . . . " "There, there buddy," the forklift driver puts an arm around your shoulder. "Happens all the time, folks come here, thinking they'll find the answer to that project They've been slaving over all those years, and then they kinda' snap." You're the first one to actually try and live inside one while he took it apart though, that's a new one." You thank him for his kindness and eat a last piece of the previous-nights pizza while sitting on the bumper of your imaginary Lamborghini, and think that this day sucks. Then you head for the exit, opening your tool box to the guy that checks such things and you head home.

"Maybe", you think to yourself, "Maybe tomorrow. Yeah, that's it, tomorrow!" and suddenly you're thinking the day isn't so bad after all.

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And when you're done, it's still got a salvage title.

But I do have an extra Jag 5.3 in my garage...

Fortunately, (sort of) I don't have the means to spend $22,500 on a Lamborghini skeleton.

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Half a Countach, though, i don't want to think about it. The only way to go about it that wouldn't leave you tearing your hair out would be mounting an engine - something like a Northstar V8, perhaps - directly behind the driver, and working around the tube frame to 'caminoize it. It would be Hell, to the degree that you'd undoubtably choose to drop the O from its name, but fun hell. And it would be virtually worthless when you were finished.

I think you know how I'm voting.

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On to business...

I have had a lengthy conversation with a fellow, formerly of the Queen Charlotte Islands, who restored a vintage Rolls-Royce about 10 years ago. I wish I could remember what it was, but I remember it was early-1950s-era. He informed me that he contacted Rolls-Royce, told them all about his project, and they willingly chipped in their help with virtually everything. He told them he was located in an extremely remote location, and was undertaking the entire project himself, in his garage. They helped him find parts, shipped items to him free of charge, called him back with technical support, located experts for him to consult with, and gave him hefty discounts on items they had in-stock. He said it was one of the easiest projects he's ever taken on, because Rolls-Royce went out of their way to help him. Still not cheap, but if you're restoring a Rolls, you're expecting to spend money.

Contrast that with dealing with Lamborghini. An Italian company, run by Germans. You KNOW there has to be tension in that building already. I mean, how dare the Germans insist on more than a 4-hour work-day? How are the workers supposed to stand on street corners in the sun, saying "Ciaoooo!" to all the bella donnas who pass by, when they're expected to spend time in the factory? Just because the German women aren't as beautiful as the Italian girls is no reason for them to be bitter.

Besides, the Italians know a proper sports car is all about passion! Emotion! Pain and pleasure! How are you, restoring a Countach, supposed to truly understand all that if they make everything easier on you? They know you need to experience the passion of loss wheen you realize you needed part #1-352771-41778-B, not part #1-352771-41778-b. Your driving experience will be so much better at the end if you had to suffer to attain it.

Countach in a wash. The Italians designed project car hell from the factory.

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The eldest of my daughters, Georgina, travels to her boarding school in the back of a Hooper Bentley, her brown leather satchel on her lap. The family car has been with us for generations, is growing tatty with age and has perished leather.

I accidentally burned the fuck out of my Countach while on a mammoth cocaine binge. Ripped to the tits, I was, hollucinating wildly. It wasn't me with the matches and the petrol can, it was Pegasus. Swept down from the heavens, I was powerless. And when the elfs finally bugger off and jesus gets his clothes back on, I shall stop tripping on disco biscuits and mend my Lamborghini.

Count ash wins.

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That would be so cool.

It would nee a V8 Archie kit with Northstar, just for the sake of correctness.

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It looks like it's been to Hell already. Nay, it looks like Hell exists within the cockpit.

Ken would either be exuberant or having a seizure if he saw that thing.

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