Are your clothes dirty? Are they dizzirty? Are they even dizzir-tay? Shit yeah, they are. But you’re an extreme dude or dudetress, so chuck that Tide and Clorox in the same turd-slot you threw your Linkin Park CDs as soon as the clock struck 2003. That’s right, you’re washing clothes in 2K3, muthafucka, and this ain’t your wrinkled old granny’s way of doing laundry. Unless, of course, your wrinkled old granny is none other than Dave Mirra, in which case: Holy fuck, hombre!

Follow these directions, and in no time, your laundry will be more dudical than waterfall-climbing is going to be in like two months.

Step 1.
The days of separating your clothes by color are gone, baby, gone. Throw everything in together. And I mean everything. Shirts, pants, shades, skateboards, even if it’s not dirty, put it the frig in that washing extreme.

[Note: Your washing machine is now called a “washing extreme”. It is different from a typical washing machine in name only. Fuck yeah, it is.]

Step 2.
Add one can of Red Bull energy drink. I’m talking about the whole, unopened can, my main slice!

Step 3.
Add one actual red bull. They’re easier to find than you think. If the bull you find is too big for your washing extreme, find a bigger bull. You didn’t misread that. If you think putting a bigger bull in a place that was too small for a smaller bull is impossible, then I guess that secret Tony Alva told me about you was true. Now get a bigger bull, pansy-pants!

Step 4.
Swim the perimeter of any Great Lake, aside from Superior. If anyone suggests you swim Lake Superior, give him or her a nipple tweaking he or she won’t soon forget.

Step 5.
You’re almost there, bros and broettes. The fifth step involves inviting Steve-O from Jackass over, giving him one-and-a-half times as much OxyContin as he asks for and allowing him to take no less than three whizzes in your washing extreme.

Step 6.
Hang to dry!

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