The Lamborghini Countach is an Expensive Dominatrix

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The Lamborghini Countach is one of those genre-defining cars. Like the Jeep or the Prius, everything that came after can be traced to design, technology, and even marketing strategies. Lamborghini designed the Countach decades ago, and it became one of the first true indisputable supercars.

It's the automotive equivalent of a leopard thong made entirely out of cocaine.

If you see someone driving one, the first thing that comes to mind is probably something like "that dude probably makes his housekeepers wear leather pants."

The thing about the Countach, and by extension Countach owners, is that just about the only opinions you can form are speculative. For most people, the odds of ever actually seeing one in person are slim.

That's why I felt compelled to write this article, and to bring to light the real reasons why people love the Lamborghini Countach. And here's the shocking part: it's not what you think.

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THE COUNTACH IS STRANGE

I live in an area outside of Philly that is, in essence, a 10-by-30-mile Ralph Lauren advertisement. The only piece of litter you'll find at the train station is a golf tee.

Due to the eccentric and nature of the region, I actually see two of these unusual Lambos regularly. One lives at the Ferrari dealership down the street from my house, and the other at a storage facility where my dad stores his classic car.

They're both black, they both have "the wing," and I will never be able to afford either one of them. That said, I did get to sit in the one at the storage place today, and I have to say I see both the car and their owners in a new light. Here's what I noticed.

First Off: The Car

It's a late production model, black on black, with the wing, US bumper delete, and the silver wheels. It's so black and low that it almost registers as negative space; it's just about the least shouty Countach you could configure.

It almost passes for sophisticated. The car also has a few thousand miles on it. The owner obviously takes care of it, despite keeping it locked up in storage for 11 months out of the year. Most importantly, it's exactly the car that you picture in your mind when you think of a supercar.

Second: The Owners

Now I don't know the owner, but sitting in this car gave me a unique insight into the psyche of someone who would actually buy one of these things. I had one major takeaway. Countach owners love pain.

Scratch that; they don't just love pain. They get off on it.

Getting into that damned car is a contortion act. Your legs actually go up to the same height as your nipples when you climb in over the football field of a door sill. If Cirque du Soleil performers can't get into a Countach gracefully, neither can you.

Once inside, the first sensation was one of sheer and utter discomfort; due to the seat being just about the right size for a horse jockey. The main job of a Countach seat isn't to keep you in place and comfortable; it's to reduce the width of your skeleton.

The pedals are both tiny and very close together; they're also much closer to your feet than the wheel, which means you're essentially leaning forward as your legs press into your pelvis.

You can't see out of it. You can't reach any of the switches. You can't even get your phone out of your pocket to call your chiropractor.

AUTOMASOCHISM

If you own one of these cars and actually drive it, you are a person that relishes in pain. Extreme discomfort, both physical and even psychological, are your weapons; and the mean streets of suburban Philadelphia are the playground you rule over with sickening malevolence.

The Lamborghini Countach is not a car for people who snort coke off dainty little mirrors. The Countach is a car for people who drip hot wax on themselves on the way to Dunkin' because they have an insatiable need to escape the numbness of life.

This is a car for people who pay to be whipped.

CONCLUSION

If you are a meth addict, a UFC fighter one concussion away from becoming a turnip, a mom who goes to hockey practice to get into fights with the other parents, if you've snorted a hole in your septum, if your idea of a fun Tuesday night is a game of Russian roulette; I have a message of hope for you.

You can live a healthy and productive life. Put the meth down, sell the Miata, and blow that candle out. Go down to the bank, take out a mortgage, and buy yourself a Countach. If your urges aren't satisfied, just wait 'till you crash it.