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Wild one-off Lamborghini Sogna for sale at $3M [w/videos]

The Lamborghini Countach was the dream car for many teens and pre-teens in the 1980s, but at least one Japanese man thought there was room for improvement. As the story goes, Ryoji Yamazaki had a dream of a supercar as a 13-year-old, and at the age of 41, he used his design studio, Art & Tech, to create the Sogna in 1991.
Yamazaki unveiled the Sogna at the 1991 Geneva Motor Show as a rebodied Countach with intentions of selling it in limited production, but thankfully - or sadly, depending how you look at it - the $1.6 million (1991 price) coachbuilt supercar never made it into production. The Geneva show car was a rolling chassis, and the only other example that was produced was a fully operational version, shown above, which was unveiled at the 1994 Essen Motor Show. This car from Essen is now listed for sale on James Edition for 2.38 million euros, or around $3.25 million USD.
With its oddball styling and kiwi green paint, the Sogna was likely doomed from the start, but it still boasts the Countach's full powertrain including the 448-horsepower, 5.2-liter V12 and a claimed top speed of 186 miles per hour. Check out more images of the 1994 Sogna at James Edition and Enmann, and we also found a couple videos, which are posted below, of the car's early development.

Use your Lamborghini Aventador to roast weenies

The Lamborghini Aventador is more than an obscenely fast supercar - it's also a ridiculously expensive barbecue. At least, that's what this video would have you believe. SCD-TV shows one of the extra uses for that shiny new Aventador in your driveway, by cooking a sausage while it belches flames out of its back end.
Now, we aren't entirely sure how good the finished sausage will be. After all, we kind of imagine that a ton of fire over such a short period of time would kind of just sear the outside while leaving the inside of the casing undercooked. Maybe the Aventador would be better suited to roasting marshmallows. There's also the question of just what's been spewed onto the hot dog by the exhaust of the Aventador. Besides not being too tasty, we aren't sure it'd really be a safe sausage to eat.
Check out the full video below to see something far beyond the average grill.

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.