How fast in the Mercedes Benz E55 AMG Wagon? Fast enough to send the sunroof cover panel backwards. Fast enough to fling the ice cream out of a well-packed cone. Fast enough to make you hit the recirculating air button to keep the smell of burning rubber from curling your nostrils. Fast enough to turn your securely fastened two-year-old into a Teletubby (Again! Again!). Fast enough to lure you out of your office for a quick spin to… anywhere. That's right: pistonhead catnip now comes in station wagon form. Go figure.

Just don't try and find one. You won't find an E55 AMG Wagon on your local dealer's showroom floor or in a glossy ad. The World's Fastest Station Wagon is only available by straight-from-Germany-to-your-driveway special order. By its own admission, Mercedes didn't think there were enough adrenaline-addicted Americans willing to stump-up $80k for a supercharged station wagon to justify the cost of marketing, promoting and importing the beast.

If cars were subject to truth in labeling laws, the Mercedes Benz CLS would be called the Mercedes Benz WTF. Nothing can quite prepare the casual viewer for the chop top Merc's initial impact. Whether you see the sedan as a bold and beautiful move by an adventurous carmaker, or a hideous repudiation of a famous marque's dignified brand values, the CLS' delivers the kind of aesthetic jolt normally reserved for concept cars and George Barris creations.

Quite how this show stopper infiltrated Mercedes' lineup is anybody's guess. Did Chrysler parachute 300C designer Ralph Gilles into the main corporate HQ? Did Mercedes boss Dr. Eckhard Cordes fall in love with the reveal on 'Pimp My Mini-Maybach'? In any case, the CLS accomplishes at a single stroke what BMW's Bangle failed to do with an entire model range: transform a German carmaker's image from stodgy establishment lackey to cutting-edge automotive artist. It's that wild.

OK, I'll admit it: I had it in for the Mercedes Benz C320 Sport even before it hit the drive. After my review of the C55 AMG, MB USA made it abundantly clear that they were unhappy with my opinion of the class from which it sprang. The suits viewed the C-Class as "prestige lite": a gateway drug to their bigger, better products. I saw the model line as a range of glorified German taxis for itinerant badge snobs. So when the C320 Sport Sedan arrived, I was ready to add fuel to my pyre.

The truth of the matter proved elusive. As soon as I found something to hate about the car, I'd discover something I liked. For example, the C320 Sport looks about as aggressive as a Dodge Caravan. The C's tiny mesh grill, petite rear spoiler and single chrome exhaust pipe are a pathetic attempt to inject sporting intent into a thoroughly banal shape. But the sedan is perfectly sized for spirited driving: low, small and relatively narrow.

I swear I had no intention of performing a drifting demonstration outside my step-daughter's school gates. In a prior attempt to gain a little mid-corner throttle control, I'd switched off the computerized handling Nanny. And then forgot all about it. So when I attempted to merge with the after-camp traffic, I suddenly found myself laying down a good 20 feet of rubber, in a decidedly sideways fashion.

Needless to say, that was not an example of driving in the traditional Mercedes manner. One wafts in one's Merc. But let's face facts: the C-Class appeals to a younger, thrustier demographic. Turning a plain Jane C into a demented German hot rod can't piss away the model's air of emotionally reserved exclusivity– it never had any in the first place. So it's damn the brand, full speed ahead!

Find an open stretch of highway, floor the Mercedes S55 and you'll soon know what it means to kompress the time/space continuum. There's a small pause and a gentle jerking sensation– as the five-speed gearbox kicks down and the supercharger spools up. And then the AMG-fettled sedan launches itself at the horizon with a single, seamless blast of forward thrust. Any doubt that the massive S55 can obliterate time with acceleration dissipates the moment you watch the speedo arc gracefully past 140 miles per hour, and keep on going.

I guess that's what happens when the Württemberg Wirbelwinds stuff 493 horses and 516ft.-lbs. of torque under the hood of an S-Class sedan. Even in these horsepower mad times, when a stock pickup truck can out-drag a 60's Ferrari, that's a lot of grunt. It's enough shove to put Mercedes' 5.5-liter V8-powered leviathan on a par with a Porsche 911. (Both sprint from 0 to 60 in 4.6 seconds.) No wonder the technician who builds the S55's supercharged powerplant signs his name on the engine; Guido Nordheim wants you to know who owns your adrenal glands.

It may not seem logical to start a review of Mercedes new, new-shape S600 by dissing the glove box. After all, this machine is Mercedes' latest salvo in the ongoing German horsepower wars, featuring a battle-ready twin-turbocharged 6.0-litre V12. But trust me, you gotta see this glove box. More specifically, open the lid and take a gander at the tiny light bulb illuminating the cubby. You can see the naked bulb shining above the glove box' top edge. What's more, the lid itself is so flimsy you have to shut it with your fingers directly over the central lock. Otherwise, it just falls back down. Plop.

How the mighty have fallen. Once a Mercedes Benz – any Mercedes Benz- boasted unassailable build quality. Now, the quality of the plastics and workmanship in their top model makes an Audi – any Audi – look like a Rolls Royce (which of course is a BMW). For people who notice and appreciate the way a heater switch feels when you press it, or how a visor adjusts, it will come as no surprise that the S-Class is easily outclassed by a flotilla of less expensive saloons: Jaguar, Audi and, gulp, VW. OK, rant finished. Let's talk about power…

After a winter's afternoon spent tear-assing around in Poole Harbour, a thoroughly frozen Mrs F. sank into the SL55's heated seats, switched on the massage button and drifted off into the arms of Morpheous. I immediately began the Sleep Test. How fast could I drive without waking my passenger?

Is that the sound of eyebrows arching? Many enthusiasts will insist that the best way to test a 493bhp automobile is to grab it by the scruff of the neck and thrash it to an inch of its life. Please! Have a little respect. The SL55 may be Mercedes' fastest ever production automobile, but it is not a rally-bred Subaru. It's a Benz. It's a big, heavy, luxury car. Tradition dictates that the SL55's driver displays a certain amount of 'decorum'. Progress should be rapid, yet safe and effortless. Hence the Sleep Test.

Pity the German companies who make their living 'tuning' mainstream motors. All the big German manufacturers (save Porsche) now have their own in-house performance divisions. Audi has its S, BMW has its M, Volkswagen has its R, and Mercedes has its AMG. Your local dealer will sell you an extra hot version of any basic model, complete with warranty and a choice of body mods. It's hard to see what an independent tuner can bring to the party.

Case in point: the Mercedes Benz AMG SL55. Why would anyone would want more muscle in a car that pumps out a colossal 500bhp @ 6100rpms? The SL55's V8 Kompressor also generates an epic 516lb.ft. of torque at 2650 – 4500rpms. In other words, Mercedes' uber-SL is fully capable of hurling its occupants from any speed, to any speed, without hesitation, deviation or repetition. In fact, the svelte-looking SL55 is one of those rare machines that can turn forward thrust into physical pain.

Blasting down an unrestricted section of autobahn at 125 miles per hour, the new Mercedes SL did something extraordinary: it kicked down. There I was, as nervous as a human cannonball aimed at a brick wall, and the SL just reaches down, grabs some more power, and slings me all the way to 155. All my doubts about Mercedes' range topper vanished. It's totally safe, faultlessly efficient and plenty damn fast. It is, in fact, the perfect car.

Oh, OK, the turn indicators sound cheap and nasty. The vanity mirrors are too small, and lack an indent for easy opening. The driver's visor is too tightly sprung; try to find a shallow angle and it just might snap your fingers off. And, um, that's it. It's perfect.