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1969 Pontiac GTO Judge vs. 2006 GTO, which Goat gets your vote?

The Pontiac GTO was perhaps the most iconic muscle car of the '60s and early '70s. With its beefy V8 and color palette screaming for attention, it summarized in a single vehicle everything that made the era so appealing to many young people. Pontiac tried to collect just a few drops of that aura again in the 2000s with a revived GTO, but with decidedly mixed results. The performance was still there with its big V8, but the looks never quite lived up to the powertrain. Now, Generation Gap wants to know which of these Goats is the one to own.
Things are skewed immediately because the 2006 GTO here is a real ringer. It comes from famous tuner Ken Lingenfelter's collection, and it's a one-off example partially fettled by GM Performance boasting a twin-turbocharged LS2 V8 with a claimed 750 horsepower and a wide-body kit. This Goat definitely isn't what you're going to find just browsing for one to buy in the newspaper. Still, dip the throttle just a little, and this GTO pulls like a freight train. It's enough to turn the two hosts into giggling schoolboys behind the wheel.
The '69 GTO Judge here is also out of Lingenfelter's collection, but this one is all stock with a 400-cubic-inch (6.6-liter) V8 and a Ram Air hood for a claimed 366 hp. It might not have the unbelievable power of the turbo '06, but it makes up for it with style to spare.

Junkyard Gem: 1991 Pontiac 6000 LE

Sibling to the Chevrolet Celebrity and Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera, the Pontiac 6000 sold pretty well during the early-to-middle 1980s, but had been relegated to the dealership bargain bin and fleet-car cul-de-sac by the time of Operation Desert Shield. Here's a final-year-of-manufacture 6000 LE that I photographed in an Arizona self-service wrecking yard. This car was sold new in Arizona, and it will be crushed in the same state, 26 years later. The LE was the cheapest trim level for the 6000 in 1991, but the original purchaser of this car sprang for a few options. For example, instead of the utterly miserable 2.5-liter Iron Duke four-cylinder, this car packs the 3.1-liter V6. That meant 140 horsepower instead of 110, plus an engine note more like a vacuum cleaner sucking up a spaghetti spill than an ailing blender chewing on walnuts. AM, FM, and cassette. Not only that, but the auto-reverse feature meant that your mixtape cassette wouldn't stop right in the middle of your favorite Roxette tune. This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. Even the wretched Daewoo-built Pontiac LeMans gets more screen time than the forgotten 6000 in this 1991 TV ad featuring the voice of Captain Picard. Featured Gallery Junked 1991 Pontiac 6000 View 15 Photos Auto News Pontiac Automotive History Sedan

This junkyard '91 Grand Am is as hooptie as it gets

I spend a lot of time in junkyards. A lot of time. With all this experience, I have learned to recognize a perfect hooptie when I see one, a car whose final owner got every last bit of use out of it when its value was hovering right about at scrap value. This 1991 Pontiac Grand Am that I spotted in a San Francisco Bay Area self-service wrecking yard a few days ago, from the final model year for the third-generation Grand Am, checks all the hooptie boxes just right. First of all, it's a low-option coupe with the wretched and unloved GM Iron Duke engine, a rattly, gnashy, thrashy 2.5-liter four-cylinder kludged together using off-the-shelf parts from the Pontiac 301-cubic-inch V8 during the darkest years of the Malaise Era and used in cars whose buyers just didn't care. Most of the paint has been burned off by 25 years of harsh California sun, but the car spent sufficient time in a damp, shady spot for lichens to build up here and there. There are skeletons-with-sombreros stencils sprayed here and there, plus a big moonshine-guzzling skeleton mural painted on the hood. Goodbye, property values! Still, someone felt some affection for this car, giving it the name "Good Ol' Snakey" and painting that name on the decklid. We can assume that the Iron Duke was a bit loose by this time, probably leaving a serpentine trail of blue smoke behind the car at all times. So, the combination of cheapness, ugliness, menace, and who-gives-a-damn functionality make this Grand Am an excellent example of a pure hooptie. Within a couple of months, it will be crushed, shredded, shipped out of the Port of Oakland, and reborn in China as refrigerators and Geely Emgrands. Somewhere in Northern California, though, a few of Ol' Smokey's friends will remember this car fondly.