“Hullo.”
Hey, John Deacon. What are you doing here?
“Look at me todger.”
Lovely. Once more: why are you here?
“Penis, anyone?”
Stop this, John Deacon.
“Balls.”
I expect this sort of thing from Freddie, but not from you, John Deacon.
“I’m in me rock star clothes, and you can see me knob and gobblers.”
Astonishing. This behavior is astonishing.
He only draws attention to his knob and gobblers so nobody notices that he intends to play tennis in those shoes, or boots or whatever impossible to play tennis in footwear those were called in the day.
His Deacy Boots could levitate and transport him about with a warm analog hum, though, so tennis was well within his electromagickal powers.
He build them from the guts of an oscilloscope and a pair of smoking room slippers he found in a rubbish tip just outside of Herefordshirehamptonworth, near the Chinese takeaway.
Engineers have been trying to replicate his feat for decades to no avail.