How do B.J. Baldwin, a 850-horsepower Trophy Truck with 34-inches of suspension roaring pell-mell across the Mojave Desert at 150 miles an hour doing things that just really are not conceivable, a dazzling damsel in distress and her diamond in the asphalt D-Sport automobile, the big neon glitter skyline of Las Vegas and one of the most opulent hotel/casinos on The Strip all end up in one atom-splitting, retina stinging, mind blowing piece of incandescent cinematic magic? Good question. And one we can't answer.
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