Top Gear Cockometer · Legit

Richard laughed so hard he swerved. The Porsche’s sensor registered the swerve as “hotdogging” and dinged him to . “I wasn’t even doing anything!” he squealed.

The first hour was telling. Jeremy’s Cockometer flickered between 2 and 3 as he cruised. Then he spotted a tunnel. “Oh, go on,” he whispered, dropping two gears. The Vantage roared like a lion with a hangover. The dial snapped to . A robotic female voice announced: “Cock maneuver detected. Unnecessary tunnel roar. Penalty sustained.”

“That’s impossible!” James cried.

Richard picked a bright-orange Porsche 911 GT3 RS. “It’s not me,” he protested. “The car is just… enthusiastic.”

By the time they reached the Highland hotel, the scores were locked. Jeremy finished with an , having done a three-point turn in a farmer’s driveway just to hear his own exhaust echo off a barn. Richard held a 9.2 —the Porsche had detected him “revving at a horse.” But James… top gear cockometer

James, meanwhile, was stuck at —the car detected a slight smugness in his lane discipline.

Richard attempted to overtake a caravan on a blind bend. The Porsche’s nose lifted, the dial buried itself at , and the voice announced: “Cock of the Year candidate registered. Sending telemetry to insurance database.” Richard went pale. Richard laughed so hard he swerved

James selected a 1998 Volvo V70 diesel, beige, with a broken CD changer. “Zero,” he predicted. “I will be invisible.”