Top Gear Cockometer -

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

Jeremy clapped him on the back. “You see, May? The quiet ones. They’re the biggest cocks of all.” top gear cockometer

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… Richard picked a bright-orange Porsche 911 GT3 RS

Then James, silent James, found a long, empty A-road. He glanced at the rearview mirror, smirked—a tiny, forbidden smirk—and planted his foot. The Volvo wheezed from 60 to 78 mph over forty-seven seconds. But the act of trying in a beige box was so profoundly cockish that his meter slowly, inexorably, ticked up to . “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he muttered. The meter ticked to 4.5 for complaining. “You see, May

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.”

The producer held up a printout. The AI had flagged James for the following: driving 4 mph under the limit in a national speed zone (passive aggression), using “sorry” hand gestures that were mathematically insincere, and—the killer—adjusting his sunglasses in a way that suggested he knew better than everyone else on the road.

The Volvo, parked silently between a Land Rover and a skip, displayed a final reading of .