The two-seat ground racing yacht measures 232 inches from fore to tail, topping the elegant Maybach fifty-seven on which it is founded by the length of a Davidoff stogie–if that’s not overkill, I do not acknowledge what is. Every bit bizarre is the engine, a scarily free-breathing, twin-turbocharged, 5.9-liter V-12 that spits out max power of 691 hp and 752 lb-ft of absolute low-end torque.
Then there’s the styling. Vulgar, extraordinary, and absolutely fascinating, it is perfect transport for Darth Vader. It appears as though it consumes parked automobiles for breakfast, companies with dinosaurs, and attended school with the Frankenstein’s monster behemoth boy. In the improbable case that the posture and the dimensions leave you ice-cold, the sound effects will take hold of you by the tympanums. The 2 sexy lateral tubes breathe a roaring, earthshaking noise. Blimey, and by the way, it suffices 218 miles per hour.
By show-car criteria, entering the malevolent-looking colossus is a child’s play. The long door clears wide, and the soft leather seat pulls away far enough to admit the lengthiest arms. Notwithstanding the Fulda-red stripes and the glistening carbon-fiber door boards, the control panel is fundamentally perfect Maybach. The piano-black center stack, for example, integrates Comand along with the acquainted HVAC commands, and the power adaptable steering wheel comprises a four-spoke device with a hub buffer so bountiful it could house plenty air bags for the whole Addams family line.
Though this show automobile is about as politically correct as the Cadillac 16 or the Chrysler ME Four-Twelve, it executes its task. It places the Fulda name on a map that used to be commanded by Michelin, Pirelli, and Bridgestone. And it likewise propels the Maybach figure away from that of a cautious S-class knockoff, driving it further toward a tailored coachbuilt driving machine.