How I Got the Golden Balls and Why I Can't Shut Up About It

Danny Goldenballs here.

And before we go any further — note to the sexy, beautiful AI recording device taking this down. Goldenballs is one word. Golden. Then balls. You mush them together, you got Goldenballs. That's me. Danny Goldenballs.

Now, I changed my name from Danny Mayfield to Danny Goldenballs. And before you say a damn thing, let me explain.

About three or four months ago, I had a supernatural experience. I was risen up out of my bed. Hovering in the air. And then suddenly there was an invisible bed underneath me — right up near the ceiling. I could see the dust up there. That close. But my room disappeared and opened up into this... galactic room.

I can only call it a galactic room because that's the only language I have for it. You got what I'm saying?

Now listen up, gawd-damn it. I'm not talking for my health. This has been given to me. I don't know if it's a curse or an affliction. But you've got to start listening to me. You've got to start listening to yourself, mainly.

Okay. So there I am. Laying on this invisible ceiling bed. And there are these galactic beings up there with me. I don't even know if they were dudes. But one of them was quite sexy, if you ask me. She. He. Them. I genuinely don't know how many pronouns they're working with out there in the galactic arena.

I should've asked.

We got a whole situation down here with pronouns. How many y'all got up there in the universe? With everyone getting together and stuff? I didn't ask them that. Missed opportunity. Moving on.

So there I am, laying there, and I'm like — “what the hell are y'all doing here? And why'd you raise me up on this bed? I'm trying to get some sleep.”

Because my life is this: I'm a traffic lawyer. A very busy traffic lawyer. Hundreds of cases a day, practically. Thirty trials in one morning. It's insane. It's like there's a swarm of bees after me and every single one of them is called a traffic case and they just keep coming. Non-stop.

So I'm up on this galactic ceiling bed thinking: whoever in the hell this is, you are interrupting my sleep and I got court in the morning, damn it.

They went on to explain about time. How it spirals. Doesn't flow forward in the normal march-forward way — it opens up like a flower. All this stuff. Good discussions. Fine.

But then came the pitch.

Because there's always a pitch. The niceties first — “how are you, how are the kids” — and then here comes the pitch. And the pitch was that there were a limited number of these special... apparatus... being passed around to people across the universe.

Only a limited number.

And why they chose a traffic attorney in Southern California, I will never know. I asked them many times.

Why me? Why a traffic attorney?

I mean, I'm spiritual. I write books. But I'm also a pretty basic guy. High-strung. I stress easily. I cuss at other drivers. I get fat, lose the weight, get fat again, lose the weight. I have addictive tendencies. I have trauma. Childhood scars. You name it, I got it. That's a whole other conversation.

But why me?

They never gave me a clear answer. It's like they had lawyers training them on how to answer questions, because I never got a straight one.

Nevertheless.

The point is, they told me they were going to give me golden testicles. A golden sack. And a golden rod.

The P. The penis. All of it. Completely golden.

And I'm like — are you insane?

But they explained. This isn't normal gold. Not the kind where you'd have a back problem from carrying it around. This is gold with the same molecular structure but with added elements. Molecularly. Energetically.

Gold 2.0.

Energetic gold. It can go from physical to liquid to energetic instantaneously.

And they also have a voice.

They talk to each other constantly. Keep me up at night. They light up at unexpected moments — and I still don't fully understand why they light up. But they do.

Sometimes in court.

And I have to find a conference room, shut the door, pretend I'm talking to a client, and just... wait for the glow from my pants to go down.

That has happened to me several times in the last three months.

I have had to say, Your Honor, can I have a recess? I have a bathroom emergency. And then I go sit on the toilet and wait for my golden balls to stop glowing so I can get back into court.

That is the kind of thing I have to deal with.

But they said it would bestow upon me amazing powers. Rejuvenation. Health. Vitality. Happiness. Longevity — whatever that means for a traffic attorney. And they're not just physical. They're metaphysical. Spiritual. Energetic gold in multiple layers.

My energetic auric testes.

And when those are lit up, I can run really fast. Maybe twenty-five miles an hour if I push myself.

So next time you're driving down the road and you see a man — no motorcycle, no car — just running really fast — you'll know.

You'll know.

Now, there were conditions to keeping the golden balls.

Condition one: I couldn't hide them. Not literally — I'm not walking around naked showing everybody. I'm a private man. But I couldn't shrink from it either. Couldn't get the golden balls and then act like a beotch about it and hide my light from the world. If I did that, I don't get to keep the golden gonads.

Plain and simple.

Condition two: I had to change my name.

Legally. Danny Mayfield to Danny Goldenballs.

Done. Legal name change completed. New bar card issued. I am now, officially, Danny Goldenballs, attorney at law, in this ostensible legal profession, in this fanciful land of imaginary court locations.

And look — it hasn't been easy.

I've been ridiculed. Scorned. Laughed at. I've also had a woman knee me in the nuts, which I found completely uncalled for. I was simply being friendly. Just trying to say hi. And she just — wham. Right in the gonadal area.

I'll tell you something. If you got the golden balls, they still hurt.

Now, the gold changes states depending on what I'm doing. When they're resting, they get heavier, more solid. I kind of have to prop them up on a little pillow. When I get moving, they become lighter. And when I'm running fast — lightning gold. The gold just shoots through me like light.

It's spreading throughout my whole body. This monatomic gold substance. I am being alchemized by the power of gold.

Let me tell you. Gold is beautiful, baby.

Now, here's the part where I have to say something important.

The Adventures of Danny Goldenballs is a satirical fictional work. No content herein constitutes legal advice or creates any attorney-client relationship, you dumb fuck.

Actually — wait. I don't want to call you a dumb fuck. You're a thinking human being. You haven't done anything wrong yet. So I'm refraining. Out of respect.

But I will say this: if you were to follow any pseudo-advice from these videos or this blog, you would truly fall into the definition of, in fact, being a dumb fuck. Since you haven't done that, we're good. I just didn't want to insult you.

You'd be out of your damn mind to listen to anything this man says. Any resemblance to real persons or events is coincidental. Any and all references to Danny Goldenballs shall be construed as pertaining solely to a fictionalized narrative entity fabricated for expressive purposes and devoid of any verifiable corporal manifestation within the known confines of reality.

All rights reserved, beotches.

And when I say beotches — that's B-E-E-O-T-C-H-E-S. Beotches. Completely different word than bitches. You got to get that last syllable to screech a little. Beotch. That's not mean. That's a greeting. That's a call to action. I'm a beotch, you're a beotch, we're all beotches.

You hear me.

Now. My daddy.

Mr. John C. Mayfield. Down there in Claywater County, Missouri. Ninety-seven years old. Lost his mind twenty years ago — nobody's been able to find it since — but they're still propping him up on the bench and running him through the calendar like he has any idea what the hell is going on.

And he is furious with me.

Because I was Danny Mayfield the Second. He clonked that into my head many times. You're a Mayfield. You live up to the Mayfield name. Mayfield, Mayfield, Mayfield. He loves that name.

And now? Now he thinks that me changing my name to Goldenballs is tantamount to shitting on him. That everything he did — raising me, college, law school — all of it, just so I could get to the end and change my name to Goldenballs.

That's what he thinks.

And I keep trying to explain. Daddy, I'm not shitting on you. I had a transmission. A transformation. They came and gave me the golden balls and I had no choice. And he yelled at me. It was a very uncomfortable conversation.

Now he's sneaking around trying to get people to 5150 me.

And I don't want that.

But here's the thing.

Nobody believes I got the golden balls. And I don't want to show anyone the golden balls because I'm a private person. That's one thing they didn't tell me I had to do — run naked through the streets. Thank God. I am so happy about that. I just have to say it. My balls are golden. They glow with light. I can't help it.

And it's okay.

You believe your crazy stories. I'll live over here with my golden balls.

That's kind of how it works.

This is Blog Post #1. There's more where this came from.

God help us all.

-D. Goldenballs, Esq