What else would you expect from the collaboration of Jackass Star Johnny Knoxville and Professional Crazyman Travis Pastrana under a gigantic MTV-scale budget? Utter insanity.

The official webpage describes the show:

Nitro Circus revolves around the world's greatest freestyle motocross rider Travis Pastrana and his crew of top action sport athlete buddies and enablers. Imagine if Evel Knievel and eight of his equally insane buddies had a television show where they tried to top the other performer's stunts week after week. That's Nitro Circus.

Whether they are trying to back-flip a motorcycle over a ravine, jump out of a plane without a parachute, or jump a Big Wheel 40-feet into the air into a crowded boat dock, Travis and his gang of nuts are going at it hard, 24/7, and there is no downtime — it's just fast, faster and disaster.

Color us impressed. From the trailer, this show looks like a rare combination of horsepower, style and great entertainers, which means it will likely be canceled in short order. The show premiered on February 8th at 10PM, with new episodes every Sunday; but with loads of rerun play you can be sure to catch it damn near anytime.

It seems we've traded Top Gear USA for this. What do you think?

We're wondering if Cyrus will go the way of most child stars and end up wrapping her Ute around some ill-fated light post. Either way, throwing up the El DIablo isn't a good start. Bonus points if you can guess what the pop diva is driving in these shots.

[CBB]

Although the Top Gear website's claiming they took a pass on the Peacock, our sources at both NBC and the BBC tell us the brightly-colored feathered network passed on an opportunity to tie up the show after the failure of the new Knight Rider series and expected high production costs associated with the show.

So, rather than tie up the franchise with a deal or an extension, they've cut Top Gear USA free to search for a new home. Top Gear's website claims interested parties are available on cable and to expect a deal shortly. We remain hopeful they'll be able to find a backer with enough money on hand to really do the show right.

[Top Gear USA]

If you're thinking this sounds like a great idea for a TV show, you're not alone. It's coming to NBC this fall starring Christian Slater. Knight Rider might have some competition.

Revealed also are some more closer-up details of the new Camaro SS than those we were able to discern from the shots we saw of this very same Camaro SS on set of the new show. Check out the super thick A Pillar, blacked out grille and the centrally mounted hood scoop. [My Own Worst Enemy via Camaro Z28.com]

Herr Merkel sounds awfully familiar: "Tall, handsome German man meets with Cora Neel and the other board members about buying Hamilton Motors." And, as if you need more than a drama about the car biz based in the D, apparently Andie MacDowell is already on board. Poor Yorick: We thought that was your head we saw rolling down Jefferson.

THE PRINCE OF MOTOR CITY To be an auto tycoon... or not to be? That's the problem plaguing philosophy lecturer Billy Hamilton.

His father, the legendary William Hamilton III of Hamilton Motor Works, was just killed in a mysterious accident. And when Billy returns home for the funeral, he's shocked to discover that his father left him... everything. The factory. The assets. Detroit's fourth-biggest auto plant. All the power and wealth he can imagine. But Billy's not sure if he wants it. Because the situation back home has gotten strange indeed.

Company CFO and family friend Paul Riley is outraged that he wasn't given the keys to the kingdom. Billy's unfinished romance with Riley's spunky daughter Meg is heating up again. And Billy's mom and his Uncle Charlie seem to be consoling one another in much too cozy a fashion—do they know more about William's death than they're letting on?

But all this pales in comparison to the eerie goings-on around the plant. Billy's being haunted by a song... a moody Elvis song that was his father's favorite. He's getting mysterious, meaningful messages from complete strangers. At a dinner party, he chats with an empty seat next to him—which chats back. Finally, a ghost that could only be his father tells Billy in a croaking voice: "I want revenge."

An epic, Gothic, family melodrama with overtones of Hamlet, The Prince of Motor City injects corporate and familial intrigue with supernatural suspense. Produced by actor Hamish Linklater of The New Adventures of Old Christine, this riveting drama tells the story of a modern-day monarch with method in his madness... and vengeance in his heart.

Everyone was okay, but the man and woman who were lucky enough to sit inside the car were arrested over what looks like a shitty television anyways. If only these idiots read books. Oh well, at least the sheriff seemed to get a good laugh out of it. Bonnie and Cylde were actually ratted out by a relative who saw the event unfolding. If that may seem cold just remember that most people in Tennessee are related. [WSMV]

The above video by way of Gawker videographer Richard Blakeley is from an announcement made just a short while ago in Times Square by Frank Klegon, Exec. Vice President - Product Development for the 'merican side of the German-American hybrid. The scoop is the long-awaited news that Chrysler's taking it in the back...seat. The boys n' girls in Auburn Hills, MI will be offering SIRIUS Satellite Radio Backseat TV service in 2008 model-year vehicles, starting first with their new 2008 minivans available this year. The MSRP is $470, including the first year of service, and after the first year it'll be available for $7 per month on top of the $12.95 Sat-Rad fee. Here's the start of the press release:

"SIRIUS Satellite Radio and Chrysler Group announced today that Chrysler Group will be the exclusive automaker to offer SIRIUS Backseat TV in its 2008 model-year vehicle lineup. SIRIUS Backseat TV is a dynamic and pioneering TV service that delivers live TV from the best family TV programmers directly to the vehicles...

...Whether driving cross-country or cross-town, families will be able to access SIRIUS Backseat TV's high quality television entertainment and family TV fare through a simple, easy-to-operate video service. Sirius Backseat TV is live TV programming from the world's most trusted brands in family entertainment - Nickelodeon, Disney Channel and Cartoon Network. The service will be available in select 2008 model Chrysler, Jeep and Dodge vehicles, beginning with the all-new 2008 Chrysler Town & Country and Dodge Grand Caravan minivans, available later this year."

Related:
Breaking! XM, Sirius Announce Merger! [internal]

So, as you may have already seen, I got my shot.
Shawn quit after one day, but I didn't know until I walked into the garage as they were about to film him making the announcement. I walked in to see what the commotion was about and almost immediately heard the news. I'm pretty sure I set a personal best in the vertical leap at that moment. They even tried to get me to do it again for the cameras, but I'd made a pact with myself before I flew down to keep the hamming it up to a minimum, so I declined. I hoped I'd learned a few things from watching reality shows in the past.

Lee called me over and I was introduced as the Godfather teams' third driver. Do you realize I've had to keep my mouth shut about that since October? I even had to be coy about it here, which made me feel like a fake. But that's all over now, baby blue. Here's how it went down...

After I shook hands with Hal, Rick and Jeff from Godfather and Freddie, their first driver, I talked to Shawn.
"It's some personal stuff, man," was how he answered the question. I thought it must be some pretty serious personal stuff for him to walk away from a shot like this, so I didn't ask him to elaborate. I still can't honestly say I know exactly why he made that decision, but I sure wasn't going to press it at the time.

I took over on the night after the race at Lanier with two days and three races to go and one hell of a deficit in points. The Godfather team had become a little skeptical of drivers by this point, but their attitude tended toward the "we want to win, but we know it's just a show, so let's have fun," side of things. This was clearly a team with their priorities in order; they were the ones who, within hours of finding out they'd have to spend another night in the trailer, had hooked it up with a hot tub, brought in a friend with a large grill to cook them steaks, and adorned the Chateau Le Dump with Christmas lights and a sign saying "Godfather Bed & Breakfast." I liked their style.

I got up the next day and went to the set feeling pretty much the same way I imagine Lyle Lovett did when he first got Julia Roberts's number. This was the final modification day, and it was about time for me to get in the car I'd be racing tomorrow for the first time. My crew chief, Rick, came back from a test run and was asked how the car was doing.

"I think it runs like a scalded dawg for what it is," he answered. "You want to take it out for a spin, Xbox?" He and I jumped into the Z for my first test run.

A note on that: You may have noticed people calling me "Xbox" on the show. I probably had the fewest hours on-track out of all the drivers on the show. I'm barely a weekend warrior with some experience at track days and autocrosses over the past four years. When I was 17 I received as a present a trip to the Skip Barber School of Advanced Driving up at Lime Rock, but that was ten years ago by the time I filmed the show. I'd found out about Forza Motorsport Showdown on the website the game developers created for Forza 2, the game the show was meant to hype. I entered a form and was chosen, cast as the "gamer" on the show. I like the game a lot, but I'd never even played in online, so "gamer" might have been too strong a term. But if that's what got me in, so be it. Tony, the crew chief of the Challenger, started calling me Xbox and the nickname stuck. He's also the one who christened the trailer out back the Chateau Le Dump, so I guess he had a flair for that sort of thing.

I got in the Godfather Z with Rick, who sat on the floorpan and hung onto the roll cage as I drove. The car took off well and really slapped your head back when the single T3/T4 turbo spooled up. We ripped through the north Georgia countryside for a while (the upgraded brakes were fantastic) until the motor started to choke high in the rev range. It would pull like crazy up until about 2,000 rpm shy of redline and suddenly run out of steam, managing only another 200 rpm before it would go no further. I had no idea what made it misbehave. ("Tuner" is another word that wouldn't apply to me.) We took the car back to the shop and the crew took a look at it... and the 100-shot nitrous kit they'd picked up after the last race knowing there would be one last drag event. They decided the bottle would do less damage as a paperweight and left it off the car. The cameras would catch me later on that day as I talked with Ken, Jace and Angela, who were doing some smack talking to hide their fear of racing against me the next day. Um... or something.

By the time I got back to the hotel Shawn was gone. I thought about the morning and visualized laps of Road Atlanta in my head. We had all lapped the course in the Panoz cars, but tomorrow was to be my first day firing up the Z in anger. I had a hard time getting to sleep that night, but when I did it was with a big smile.

The next morning I jumped out of my team's Suburban and back into the Z for some test launches. The team had gotten some drag radials with their points, and they helped. But I was having trouble getting a decent launch. The engine glitch seemed to be fixed, though. Thankfully, I had some experience with this kind of thing. I'd done my share of stoplight drags in front-wheel-drive Japanese cars, long before "The Fast and the Furious." Thus, the risk to my safety was just below that of spending spring break in an South African whorehouse. My racetracks had turns in them now. I'd never seen a pro tree before, and damned if I knew how to do a standing burnout in the rear-drive Z. My first two runs were disappointing, running low 13's and spinning the tires all the way through the first two gears. I lined up for my third run next to Clay in the 427 Camaro clone, listened to Rick tell me to launch at 4,000 rpm over my helmet radio, and concentrated on not missing the tree.

Bam! The lights went green and I bogged slightly on the launch, but found all the traction I could. I ran through the gears as Clay's car fuel starved and I whipped past him.

"Twelve-nine! Twelve-nine!" hollered Rick in my ears. I clapped my hands and returned to the car transporter. Ken had been able to wring a 12.1 out of a similar setup, but that was the fastest quarter mile I'd ever driven. The team came over and slapped my back. I was happy to have been able to put some points on the board for them. Time to get to the road course where I actually knew what I was doing.
The time trials from two days before had been canceled due to the rain. Now they would serve as qualifying for the final event to decide which team walked away $100,000 richer — a 15-lap sprint at Road Atlanta. My turn came and the gremlins made their way back into the Nissan's motor. I could not run the damn thing to redline. I estimated it was costing me 25 to 30 mph in top-end speed on the back straight and maybe 20 mph everywhere else. I hit my apexes and gave it all it could take, finishing with a 1:53 and change in last place. But there's more to sports car racing than miles per hour, isn't there?
Ken and Jace's cars were malfunctioning, Ken's with a bad seal around his master cylinder (somehow caused by heat from the turbo), and Jace's with a blown thermostat that had given up the ghost in the 90-plus-degree heat. The producers called the teams together to discuss. Wwould we allow the teams half an hour to fix their cars so they could run the race, worth double or triple points, which would determine the winner?

One of the YearOne crewmembers immediately pointed at Lou Gigliotti and spoke up:
"He wouldn't give us shit if that was us. I say no." There was a general consensus among the teams. Another idea was put forward though: did anyone want to win that way?

Shit... no.

So Ken's team got to work on his car as a local Corvette owner stepped forward and offered up the thermostat from his C6 to save Jace's ride — a bit of drama that escaped the show's final cut. My team sat there and worried over the Z. The motor trouble was a phantom; we didn't know where it was or what to do to correct it.

The announcement came that we would be inverting the field, making me the leader for the rolling start. It seems the underdogs had been thrown a bone. The decree was met with howls from the LG team. We all took to our cars for pace laps behind a Panoz School instructor in a GT-RA. This was it.

The pace car peeled off into the pits to the right of turn twelve, the diving right-hander before the start/finish line, and we maintained our speed and positions as we'd been taught.

"Green! Green! Green!" came the call through my helmet as the flag waved and I slammed on the throttle. I ran it as hard as the erratic motor would allow, but was passed in the first turn by the Camaro. Angela's Mustang filled my mirrors as we charged down the short straight into turns six and seven, the two 90-degree right-handers that lead to the long back straight. I was in second place.
I took turn six with all the speed I could, and set myself up for a good line through turn seven. I apexed and rolled into the throttle a little too quickly as I tracked out, fishtailing wildly as cars blew past me. I saved the car and hauled after them.

(Another side note: I had believed that the oversteer was due to too much throttle applied at the exact rpm at which the turbo spooled up, making me break loose, but it seems there's more to it than that. I spoke to Rick last week and this is what he told me: "I didn't want to scare you at the time, but the motor was boiling off a little coolant, and it was running down the body and splashing onto the rear tires." Six months later, this was news to me.)

I hit terminal velocity at about 138 mph two thirds of the way down the back straight. I crested the hill before it dove down to the turn 10 A/B complex, left at A, uphill right at B. Omigod! Ken and Angela slammed into one another and had nearly come to rest under the bridge at turn eleven as I knifed past to their left. I believe Jace in the Corvette was disappearing around turn one when I again made the front straight. Uphill on one, a little left at turn two, and sunlight sizzled off the yellow Vette, motionless in a run off area before the sweeping turn three and the esses. I was the only car I could see on the track as I completed a much better turn seven and took to the back straight again, this time flying by Clay Dale as his formerly race-leading Camaro sat dead in the grass, the victim of a shattered carbon-fiber driveshaft. I had passed four cars out of six to retake second place, and Clarence was in my sights.

I managed to use the better agility of the Z to catch up to Clarence, but I could do nothing to prevent him from burning me once we got to the back straight. I set myself up to the inside of the track before 10A/B and late-braked Clarence without excessive difficulty in A, with a car or two lead by the time we exited B, flung ourselves under the bridge on the blind turn eleven, and skittered across the track on the diving, off-camber turn twelve. The editors chose to skip that pass, however, but it's ok. I'm sure Clarence's 17th joke about women drivers was more worthy of the viewers' time than a pass for the lead anyway. At least I'm not bitter about it.

That Challenger's 440 was asking questions my wheezing turbo Z couldn't answer, and once again I was passed before turn one. I dogged Clarence through the turns but didn't pass him again. I knew the lighter Z could out brake the heavy muscle car every time on the turn 10 complex, and I knew I could hold him off until after the finish line once I'd done it. I almost a lap ahead of everyone but Clarence, and I would bide my time. I waved to Clay as we tore by him on the straight and he waved back. This was fun.
My eyes were down track on turn five at the end of the esses when God hit the slow-mo button on his remote. My rpms fell smoothly away and my car slowed to a halt off line before the turn before the motor died. I radioed it back to the pits: the car had overheated and killed itself. I couldn't get it started. Clarence swung all the way around the track and passed me again before I got the engine to turn over in limp home mode and I stuttered around three-quarters of the track on what felt like two cylinders before I was able to coast downhill into the pits. The pace car came by with Clarence, Ken and Angela rumbling behind.

My thermostat had clanged shut, and the whole team raided every cooler the crew had in order to pour bottle after bottle of water into the radiator. The first bottle instantly vaporized, scalding an extra mechanic we had somehow picked up with a jet of steam. Meanwhile, the race began again with the three cars grouped tightly together. Many long minutes had passed and there was no longer any chance of my winning. I just wanted to finish. I didn't want this one to end in a DNF. We got some water back in the car, got it started up, and I got back on the track. I completed several more modest laps before I got my own checkered flag. I pulled into the pits just in time to see Angela spinning the Mustang in crazed donuts on the other side of the fence. Holy shit, she'd done it. That girl driver could drive.

The show closed with the presentation of the check while Lou stormed back and forth contesting the outcome. The cars had all been fitted with transponders and had been clocked by Road Atlanta officials, however, so his dispute was for naught.

The Godfather team crowded together for the ceremony and they told me how proud they were of me and I apologized for not keeping a better eye on the temp gauge. Clarence and Angela, the best of friends in the real world despite their portrayal on television, were inseparable. Everyone agreed that the past two weeks had been fantastic.

I returned to the set and Rick told me to go take a look at my banner in the garage. A paper sign had been taped to my banner right where the "Help Wanted" sign had been when Shawn quit. Yeah, yeah, Xbox gamer boy, I'd heard it all. That wasn't it, though. As I got closer I could read the sign. And I got a lump in my throat. It was in black marker with an arrow pointing up toward my face, and there were only three words: "Race Car Driver." I don't know why, but I think it was the underline that got me. I couldn't thank they guys enough for that.

Everyone cleaned up and met at a bar outside town for the wrap party. The smiles were just that much brighter with the addition of booze to the equation for everyone but Jace who, at 17, was stuck with soda for another couple years. We struck the set the next day and cleaned up. I got on a plane and thought about the nature of luck. – James Gribbon

[James Gribbon was there the whole time Speed TV was filming its new series, "Forza Motorsport Showdown." Teams of supposedly amateur drivers compete in multiple challenges — from road course and autocross driving, to oval, drag, and drifting — for a shot at $100,000. Each week James will be conveying what it was like to ditch his office job to get sunburned, shit on and generally treated like the Gimp for an outside shot to drive someone else's car really, really fast. So check out the show, or spoil it for yourselves each week.]

Related:
You Are There: SpeedTV's Forza Motorsport Showdown, Episode 3 [internal]

The morning of the second mod day rolled around, and I woke up in a good mood despite the insistent nagging of a low-grade hangover. Bourbon's all fun and games until you arise with a steel band around your skull and Technicolor breath. I grabbed a few cereal bars and an energy drink at the set and looked around for ways to make myself useful. The fog was burning off, both literally and figuratively, when I walked outside the main garage to look for some missing gear in one of our vans and spotted Freddie heading towards the set from the Chateau Le Dump.

"Hey," I started, but something was very wrong. Freddie was walking like he was a hundred years old, barely shuffling up the incline to the set. His arms didn't swing as he moved, but jerked at angles like a barefoot person walking over sharp rocks. How hard had he hit that wall?

A former football and baseball player, Freddie's back wasn't in tip-top shape to begin with, and the close encounter with the wall while drifting hadn't helped. He figured he'd know by that night what was what. Wow. Just when I felt like I was being accepted as part of the production staff and was feeling comfortable in my role, it looked like Shawn or I might get a shot. That woke me up. My mind spun as I found tasks to occupy my time and make the daylight hours pass more quickly.

The teams were once again busy changing suspension components, boosting power, adding downforce, and trying not to think about what a long day and night of wrenching they had ahead of them. The Camaro and Challenger got air dams and spoilers, which made them look a little like the cars campaigned by Mark Donohue and Sam Posey in early 70's Trans-Am competition. I tried to imagine Clarence in a lime-green E-body and laughed. The Corvette was more intimidating than ever, with a new front splitter, a three-section spoiler, a vented hood and wheels wide enough to sit proud of the rear panels. The C6 made the other team owners stop and frown when they looked at it.

Shadows grew longer in the afternoon light and there was a buzz on the set. Meetings were being held behind closed doors. Word went out that all the drivers and crews should assemble in the garage. Hot lights burned overhead and the cooling fans were shut off. The teams gathered, and Lee made the announcement: Freddie couldn't continue. I stood under the long arm of a jib camera and applauded while Shawn walked into the light and into the cameras' eyes. I was envious, obviously, but I was also his biggest fan at that moment. Shawn and I were like our own little sub-group among the producers, directors, cameramen, grips and drivers. We were outside all the groups looking in, and now one of us had made it. I knew the producers had made the only choice they could have, Shawn did have a tenth of a second advantage on me in the timed laps, maybe more. I didn't know which laps they had caught.

An executive from the Speed Channel had come down to Georgia to check out our progress and meet with Bud Brutsman, the executive producer. I saw the two of them leave in Bud's car, a brand-new '69 Mustang clone with a supercharged motor from a late model SVT Cobra and done in pure black with a matte hood. (You may have seen it at the drag track in the first episode.) I was sitting outside in the cool evening air with a group of other production assistants when the line producer, Lynda, approached us and asked who wanted to drive the Speed exec's rental car out to the Chateau Elan for him. I looked past the keys held in her outstretched hand to see a red 2006 Mustang GT and was making "vroom, vroom" noises in the driver's seat before I even got the key in the ignition. I made the most of the surface roads while trying not to topple the tall stack of folders in the passenger seat. I eventually just put a seatbelt on them while at a red light. The light turned green and I launched myself onto an on-ramp ... and into voluminous traffic.

Curses! I kept to the right two lanes for the two exits I had to drive and entertained myself by rowing through the gears, grinning hugely with each blip of the throttle as I downshifted.

Weeks earlier, each of us was asked to send in a photograph of ourselves wearing a racing suit so our name and likeness could be put on 12 foot tall banners which were hung on the wall of the garage. This was a simple task for the other drivers. I had to contact a family friend with a vintage racing shop, borrow a suit, take a few snaps, and give it back. I returned from my ride in the Mustang and was handed my banner. "I guess we can just give you this now," said the young woman who handled wardrobe and props. I unfurled it back at the hotel and took a look. I pictured how it would have looked hanging next to the others. I got in bed and shut off the lights.

You know the drill by now, dear readers: load truck, unload truck, hang banners. This time it was at the Lanier Speedway. I'd never driven a banked oval before, but Shawn had a smile on his face a mile wide; this was his element. I was sent to the inside of a turn with a pickup truck and a cameraman. My job was to roll slowly forward as the cars flew by and he filmed while standing on the bed. Clarence and Ken, the only two non-circle track drivers, both put on huge smoke shows: Clarence as his fender rubbed a rear tire and Ken as he chose to drift a few turns during the timed laps. Clay Dale, more than once a track champion at Lanier, just couldn't get the Camaro to stick in the turns. Jace once again set the fastest lap in the Vette, garnering praise from Lou and a few more points towards the overall championship.
Clouds had slowly been rolling in during the time trials at Lanier, and we packed up and headed back. I was riding in the back of the truck with four other people and nearly every piece of sound and camera gear used in the production when the floor smoothly took on an alarming pitch. Gravity tried to dump all the cargo, including us, out the back as the truck traversed the steep banking to exit the track. We each grabbed a handhold and some gear - too easy, drill sergeant.

A quick rain shower hit Road Atlanta and quickly left when the production rolled in. The track was soaked, and they had a decision to make. The cars sat in a line along the pit wall as the producers talked it over with the track officials. The teams sat in their shiny new Suburbans and Yukons in the parking lot and ... wait a minute!

Before long, all six of the massive SUVs, along with another pickup and the flat bed wrecker which belonged to the track, were grunting and chugging out laps in an attempt to dry out the racing line. The kid-haulers ran in a tight group, big bodies roaring down the front straight like B-17s in formation. Lou Gigliotti, scornful of the pace as could only be expected, ran to the inside of the group on the diving turn 12 before the front straight and passed several other teams before the finish line. I could hear his team cackling over the radios. The asphalt was just beginning to look good when the rains came again and washed away any chance of driving that day.

Back at the garage, everyone was looking forward to an early night. The crews joked with one another as they dried off the cars. I was thinking of getting myself a snack when Bud blew past me, anger all over his face. The teams were called back into the garage. Somebody's going to get a talking-to, I thought. I found my way back into the garage, hoping to rubberneck at the scene that was about to take place. Many pairs of eyes settled on me as I walked in. Shawn had quit. – James Gribbon

[James Gribbon was there the whole time Speed TV was filming its new series, "Forza Motorsport Showdown." Teams of supposedly amateur drivers compete in multiple challenges — from road course and autocross driving, to oval, drag, and drifting — for a shot at $100,000. Each week James will be conveying what it was like to ditch his office job to get sunburned, shit on and generally treated like the Gimp for an outside shot to drive someone else's car really, really fast. So check out the show tonight, or spoil it for yourselves each week.]

Related:
You Are There: SpeedTV's Forza Motorsport Showdown, Episode 3

Some of us Jalops have busy lives and a fan base that is not only extensive, but always demanding of attention. As such, sometimes the coverage of a major hot rod show like Detroit's Autorama may be posted a bit late. Hey, you'd post late too if you had to beat off all those fans with a bent tie rod. Anyway, in the next couple of days, expect tardy posts. You know, my norm.

So here we go, let's start out with a doozy, a Monte Carlo SS wagon. Interested? I was too. How about a Monte Carlo SS wagon with eight TV's, a 2,500-watt sound system, and Autozone (or Murray's if you please) halo headlights? Conductor, this is my stop, I'm not frontin' on the body work, it's really nice considering it's based on the owner's imagination. Still, yowza. Check out the interior after the jump...

Yes, that's a set of TV screens in the IP, and one in front of the console, and one below that, and one in the glove box area, and if you look closely, there's one in the corner of the open suicide scissor door. I don't make it up, I just report it.– Ben Wojdyla

Related:
Autorama-Lama-Ding-Dong: Dodge Challenger Super Stock Is Back...In Black! [internal]

If you were wondering what KTM's new X-Bow (crossbow) roadster looks like on the track, check out this clip from a recent profile on German TV. While the driver is a sad facsimile of the black Stig, the X-Bow nonetheless looks like its just begging for an airstrip and a Northern European guy named Getthef k Outtadawei manning the stopwatch. – Mike Spinelli

Related:
Geneva Showcase: The KTM X-Bow [internal]

San Francisco Rod, Custom & Motorcycle Show [External]

Related:
Sci-Fi Survivor: The Landmaster; GMC PAD Takes Design Prize; When TV was King of Kustoms [Internal]

Nearly three months from the day he nearly went supernova in a car powered by rocketry, "Top Gear"'s Richard Hammond attended the TG Cars of the Year Awards last week, ahead of the series' return to BBC2 air on January 27, 2007. At the ceremony, a Lego rep presented the quite-nearly-killed Hamster with a scale model of the car he was in — the Vampire jet car — made entirely of Lego blocks. No word on whether the show will continue the Star in a Spectularly Crashed car series, but we hear James May has decided against being pushed out of a Miami-bound 767 in a Cushman janitor's cart. That's probably wise. – Mike Spinelli

Hamster attends TG Awards [TopGear]

Related:
More on TopGear [internal]

This kustom 1969 AMC AMX was featured in the second regular season episode of Bancek as a stolen "experimental racecar". In the episode entitled Project Phoenix, the car was worth five million dollars. Banacek was called in to find it, and the trailer it was stolen in. Stylish turtlenecks, cigar smoking, Polish proverbs, and chatting up the ladies ensued. The AMC was spied at the Walter P. Chrysler Museum this last summer after having spent 33 years on the show car circuit following its TV debut in 1972. – Mike Bumbeck

[A-Team Photo Gallery]; [Walter P. Chrysler Museum] [External]

Related: [The Best Van Ever: The A-Team's GMC]; [Mini Slot Car A-Team Elvis Mayhem] [Internal]

[SCX]

Related: The Best Van Ever: The A-Team's GMC [Internal]

Our favorite limey motoring program is still on hiatus during the big football soccer touranament (and even that's on a two day break, natch). So to fill the long hours between the time you perm your hair to look like Clakson, or whiten your teeth like Hammond, or drive really slow to be like James May, we've got a short clip for you wherein the Top Gear crew investigates the effects of convertible driving on various wigs. Check it out.

Related:
More Top Gear [internal]

We don't think there's much more we can or should say — the title speaks for itself. We don't want to in any way blemish this perfect vid of Hammond learning the ways of the "bling." There are three epic moments in the video you simply must keep on the lookout for, and here they are:

1.) Hammond rolling down his window.
2.) "Whatever you just said."
3.) "Jay-Zed"

Related:
More Top Gear [internal]