A buddy of mine once had a 1968 GTO, and I helped him install a Pontiac 400 motor in it and a four-speed transmission. Holly four-barrel carb, low-gear back end, and headers. He bought it in North Carolina, where it had never experienced salted roads, and the body and upholstery were sweet. But this car was the definition of muscle car. It would snap and bark at the stoplight, and the slightest movement of the clutch would give you whiplash. When he trounced on it and took off, it would blow off other cars' doors, and change the rotation of the Earth. The speedometer needle jumped to the right, and the gas guage needle jumped to the left. Loud and angry. That car rocked. I often wonder if he still has it.