2002 Pontiac Grand Am Se1 on 2040-cars

Auto blog

Check out the official 2013 Trans Am Hurst Edition commercial

The Poncho is dead. Long live the Poncho. Like certain other reoccurring personal maladies, the aftermarket community simply can't let the Trans Am go without another flare up. The guys at Trans Am Depot have worked up a quick commercial for their newest creation: The 2013 Trans Am Hurst Edition, and it watches pretty much like you'd expect it to. The footage is comprised of just about every TA male fantasy you can conceive of, from Daisy Dukes and white tank tops to tramp stamps, bikinis and ice cream cones. There simply aren't words for what you'll see below.
Of course, we like our T-Tops as much as the next guy. If you like what you see in the videos, you can pick up your very own TA by heading over to the Trans Am Depot site. The guys even have Chevrolet Camaro-based versions of the Pontiac GTO if the '77 TA treatment is too much for your tastes. Enjoy, but don't say we didn't warn you.

This Auto Aerobics car art ties our brains in knots like pretzels

We like cars, and we like art. Naturally, Chris Labrooy's Auto Aerobics series - computer-generated images of some seriously contorted 1968 Pontiac Bonnevilles floating in mid-air - instantly clicked with us. If the Pontiacs weren't floating or hollow, we could be fooled into believing the image is real. But where's the fun in that?
Check out the gallery we included of Labrooy's Bonneville art, and feel free too head over to his website for some Formula One humor.

24 Hours of Le Mans live update part two

We tasked surfing journalist Rory Parker to watch this year's live stream of the 2016 24 Hours of Le Mans. What follows is an experiment to experience the world's greatest endurance race from the perspective of a motorsports novice. Parker lives in Hawaii and can hold his breath longer than he can go without swearing. For Part One, click here. Or you can skip ahead to Part Three here. I write about surfing for a living. If you can call it a living. Basically means I spend my days fucking around and my wife pays for everything. Because she's got a real job that pays well. Brings home the bacon. Very progressive arrangement. Super twenty first century. I run a surf website, beachgrit.com, with two other guys. It's a strange gig. More or less uncensored. Kind of popular. Very good at alienating advertisers. My behavior has cost us a few bucks. I'm terrible at self-censorship. Know there's a line out there, no idea where it lies. I still don't understand any of the technical side. Might as well be astrophysics or something. For contests I do long rambling write ups. They rarely make much sense. Mainly just talk about my life, whatever random thoughts pop into my head. "Can you do something similar for Le Mans?" "Sure, but I know absolutely fuck-all about racing." "That's okay. Just write what you want." "Will do. But you're gonna need to edit my stuff. Probably censor it heavily." So here I am. I spent the last week trying to learn all I can about the sport of endurance racing. But there's only so much you can jam in your head. And I still don't understand any of the technical side. Might as well be astrophysics or something. While I rambled things were happening. Tracy Krohn spun into the gravel on the Forza chicane. #89 is out of the race after an accident I missed. Pegasus racing hit the wall on the Porsche curves. Bashed up front end, in the garage getting fixed. Toyota and Porsche are swapping back and forth in the front three. Ford back in the lead in GTE Pro. #91 Porsche took a stone through the radiator, down two laps. Not good. The wife and I are one of those weird childless couples that spend way too much time caring for the needs of their pet. French bulldog, Mr Eugene Victor Debs. Great little guy. Spent the last four years training him to be obedient and friendly. Nice thing about dogs, when you're sick of dealing with them you can just lock 'em in another room for a few hours. You don't need to worry about paying for college.