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Lamborghini Veneno supercar celebrates the bull's 50th birthday

While yesterday's and today's leaks of the 2013 Lamborghini Veneno took some of the mystery out of this 50th-anniversary hypercar, the exotic, street-legal racecar is no less exciting. Now with the official announcement, we get more details about what three lucky people on Earth will get to experience.
The Veneno is named after one of the fastest and strongest fighting bulls ever.
As we suspected, the Veneno name follows the Lamborghini tradition of naming its cars after famous fighting bulls, and this new Aventador-based hypercar is named after one of the fastest and strongest fighting bulls ever, a bull that gained recognition back in 1914 for killing a matador. To match its name, the Veneno gets its strength from Lamborghini's 6.5-liter V12 producing 750 horsepower and tops out at 220 miles per hour.

Party sponsored by Lamborghini tried to airlift yacht into Austin lake for F1 race

This was the kind of understatement we didn't expect to encounter in the Lone Star State: on our way into Austin to attend the Grand Prix of the Americas, the man sitting next to us on the plane - an Austinite born and raised - said, "There's gonna be a lot of wealthy people here." You know, as if Texas didn't have its fair share already.
Wealthy people need wealthy things to do and not-as-wealthy people to arrange such things for them. Case in point is My Yacht Club, which follows the Formula 1 parade and other rah-rah events around the globe, hosting guests and parties on yachts. In Austin the event group has had to change its schtick; there's no way to navigate one 150-foot motor yacht into Austin's Lady Bird Lake. MYC principal Nicholas Frankl told KUT News, "We spoke to the Army Air Corps. They couldn't lift it." We believe he meant the Army Corps of Engineers, but no matter, they couldn't lift it either.
So MYC has switched to a land-lubbers venue, The Long Center where Ballet Austin, the opera and the symphony perform. In case you readers are worried about how guests will manage without chiseled Italian deckhands in epaulets, not only has Frankl promised that "the elements of decadence and luxury and coolness and exclusivity are all there," guests will get to guzzle 24-karat gold-infused champagne. Because the stars at night just aren't as big and bright without it, obviously.

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.