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David Hasselhoff's own KITT replica up for auction

Depending on when and where you grew up, the name David Hasselhoff likely conjures up images of Knight Rider, Baywatch, pop singer, or possibly a washed-up TV actor, but one thing that can never be taken away from The Hoff is his connection to one of the greatest automotive icons in pop culture. The Knight Industries Two Thousand, usually shortened to simply KITT, was the real star of Knight Rider for many fans. Based on a Pontiac Firebird Trans Am, the car combined snarky quips for comedy relief and stunts to provide much of the show's actions. Now, Julien's Auctions is selling Hasselhoff's own replica as part of a larger sale of the actor's personal memorabilia collection.
This recreation is based on a 1986 Firebird and comes with all of the tech on the inside that now seems hilariously outdated, like the yoke steering wheel and plethora of buttons. The interior also thoughtfully includes a voice box with over 4,000 sound clips from the show. With a 5.0-liter V8 and an automatic transmission, performance is likely adequate and period correct. According to the listing, this car was created by fans and given to the Hoff. Sadly, the replica doesn't convert to Super Pursuit Mode like KITT could in later seasons, and we most associate KITT with conventional front-hinged doors to go with the power t-tops and ejector seats.
Bidding currently sits $27,500 with eight bids, since starting at $15,000. Julien's predicts it will sell for between $30,000 and $50,000. If there is some nostalgia for KITT in your heart, there is still plenty of time to bid.

Baseball team to dress like Trans Am, complete with screaming chicken

Come to think of it, the Screaming Chicken actually sounds like the name of a minor league baseball team. Well, it isn't, but the famous logo of the same name that graced the hood of the 1970s Pontiac Trans Am will at least be making it to a baseball uniform this summer. The Lansing Lugnuts, a Single-A affiliate of the Toronto Blue Jays, will be rocking these special uniforms to honor the late Burt Reynolds and his film Smokey and the Bandit. By default, it will also be honoring the car the movie made famous: the 1977 Trans Am painted black with gold trim and, of course, the screaming chicken on the hood. This is a pretty good history of the emblem. So why the Lugnuts and Burt Reynolds? Although he claimed to be born in Georgia for much of his career, he admitted in a 2015 autobiography that he was in fact born in Lansing, Mich. After a few years, his family settled in Florida. Not exactly hometown hero stuff, but minor league baseball promotions have been made of more tenuous connections. The Burt Reynolds tribute night will be July 20, and if you want to get a screaming chicken jersey for yourself (I mean, wouldn't they be perfect for a cars and coffee?), the game-used jerseys will be auctioned off for charity after the game.

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.