2013 Lamborghini Gallardo Lp 570-4 Spyder Performante Automatic 2-door Convertib on 2040-cars

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Lamborghini Huracan blown up to create 999 NFTs

The Internet continues to hone its ability to commercialize intangibles. In this case, the situation begins with a tangible, so we'll start there. According to cryptocurrency news outlet The Block, an investor purchased a real car, a 2015 Lamborghini Huracan, for real money. Then, an artist going by the handle Shl0ms led a team of about 100 people who worked together to blow up the Italian supercoupe and turn its bits into 999 non-fungible tokens, known as NFTs, and sell the tokens at auction. The artist, the team, the explosion, and the bits are materially real — every one of them can be touched and squeezed, were one to desire. After that, well, things get digital.  This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. Shl0ms told Fortune that his crew experimented with explosives for two weeks, looking for the right bang to bring in the most bucks. When that was decided, they took the Huracan to the desert and put a "federally licensed explosives engineer" in charge of the boom, and used high-speed cameras to capture the detonation. The collective then gathered the Lamborghini pieces, choosing 999 of them to be filmed in short 4K clips of "exquisitely filmed fragments" rotating against a black background. These videos are the non-fungible tokens going up for sale. Of those 999 video segments, 111 are reserved for the people behind the project. The remaining 888, labeled the "$CAR" group, will be listed in a 24-hour auction starting February 25, bids beginning at .01 Etherium coin (ETH) — a cryptocurrency — which is about $26 USD at current exchange rates.   So the short story is: Guy blows up Lamborghini, makes 999 videos of 999 exploded bits, sells videos online. For anyone not clear on the exclusively digital nature of the NFT, none of the winning auction bidders will get a leftover piece of Lamborghini. In answer to a tweet asking about the shards, Shl0mo tweeted that "the fragments are either large, dangerous, greasy, or all 3 and will be kept in secure storage for the foreseeable future." We know that money is one of the reasons for this endeavor. Shl0ms — who's apparently made about $1 million from "NFT art experiments" — also has precedent for this work. He destroyed a urinal akin to the one made famous in 1917 by artist Marcel Duchamp, then sold 150 NFTs of video clips of the leftover bits in 2021. That NFT collection raised $500,000.

Lamborghini Super Trofeo series will rent you a race car for $35k, all expenses included

Racing isn't cheap. The cars often command six-figure price sums, race teams don't work for free and then you have to get the car to races while feeding it an endless supply of tires. It's no surprise then that owning a race team is a multimillion-dollar affair, but Lamborghini and its North American Blancpain Super Trofeo series is a new way for licensed racers to get behind the wheel of a racecar for a much lower price.
As a part of the single-make series, Lamborghini will supply racers with everything you need for competition - including a race-spec Gallardo LP 570-4 Super Trofeo - as well as a trackside hospitality experience... all for a relatively affordable $35,000 per race weekend. Of course, not just anyone with a spare $35,000 can hop behind the wheel and hit the track. Lamborghini says that all drivers must have an FIA-accredited racing license for the International Motor Sport Association category with a "C" or "D" rating.
When it comes to the actual racing, there will be two 60-minute practice sessions, 40 minutes of qualifying and two 50-minute races, meaning that these cars might be the most expensive rental cars ever at $8,700 per hour. In its inaugural season, the Super Trofeo will run in conjunction with two Grand-Am races, two America Le Mans Series races, an IMSA race in Canada and finally an IndyCar race weekend in California.

2015 Lamborghini Aventador LP 700-4 Roadster Review

"Lamborghini Murcielago." That's what I would tell anyone who asked what my favorite car was. Yes, there were easier cars to drive than the wailing wraith from Sant'Agata Bolgnese, and that was partly why I liked it so. It was impossible to see out the back – reversing was easiest done with the door open, sitting on the sill. My head banged the door frame when I checked traffic on the left. The seat made my butt hurt. The cabin ergonomics were based on a design language that humans haven't yet translated. It boiled over in stop-and-go traffic. It was big. Yet it drove like nothing else, with the instant zig-zag reflexes of a mako designed in The Matrix. The Murcielago's thrills weren't laid out on the ground, you had to dig for them with your bare hands. And that's what made it outstanding. When I first drove the Aventador at its launch in Rome, I spent the day blasting around the circuit at Vallelunga. It was so easy to drive – "too easy by half," as Jeremy Clarkson would later say of it – viciously quick, unholy fun, and very good. But it was a little too easy to drive. Which is why the Murcielago remained my favorite car, ever. Until two weeks ago. The Aventador came when the rough-diamond Gallardo was Lamborghini's in-house reference for ease-of-use. But now we have the fire-and-forget Huracan. Having driven one after the other, and on the context of LA streets instead of the smooth and open landscape of Vallelunga or Laguna Seca, I now see the Aventador for what it truly is: the representation of the bull that's on the Lamborghini badge – head-down, horns-out anger. Like the Murcielago, the Aventador is big. It's more than ten inches longer than a Chevrolet Corvette, five inches wider than a Dodge Charger SRT Hellcat, and 3.5 inches wider than a Dodge Viper. It is also low, an inch lower than the already ground-floor Huracan. I won't pretend to be rational about it: the Aventador says everything I want a car to say. It's the certain, antidotal statement to brief and befuddled everyday lives. The cabin is a cockpit in every sense: close-fitted, button-filled, lit up. I'm five-foot-eleven, and I wear it like a tailored suit. I gave a ride to a guy who's six-foot-three and perhaps 260 pounds, so it can fit much larger frames but I still don't know how he got in or out through that scissor-door opening. The trunk in the Murcielago was big enough to hold a single dream.