The moment I knew I had to get this off my chest was when I stepped into the gent’s one evening at Marina Square. I had been holding back a sack full of pee during a shopping trip with the other half, and there was no way I was going to play dressing room commentator a second longer.

A perfunctory apology and a mad dash later, I’d taken my place at the urinal with eyes closed and head cocked, oblivious to whatever else that was happening in the washroom. Call it a hyperbole or a weird ass habit, but I believe that it enhances the sweetness of a urinary relief – the way howling sex sounds enhances the quality of orgasms.

It was only when I felt colour return to my face mid-wee that I peeled open my eyes – and there he was; adjacent to myself was a stocky man who was also doing his Number One, except that he had one hand on his dong and the other on his iPhone X that was rested across the top of the urinal like a makeshift bathroom TV. An episode of what looked like MasterChef was playing.

Really? Kudos to him, though, for having found a way to make himself at home at a Marina Square toilet, a place that I wouldn’t say cracked my list of top 10 homeliest public toilets in Singapore.

In between my fly zipping and me resuming my role as the GF’s dressing room commentator, I had mentally covered just about every single thing that was wrong with it, which includes exactly what you’re probably thinking right now: Can’t it wait!? What was so important that he had to risk slipping his precious (not enough, apparently) $1,000 toy into a swirling pool of his own piss?

Or worse, the possibility of having to shell out a good 1/3 of the phone’s price tag to replace a cracked screen, just because he had to let an obsessive level of smartphone addiction distract him for forty-five seconds of urinal biz?

I doubt even a Prime Minister would find something so drastically pressing that he has to keep himself plugged in like that on his bathroom breaks.

Over the course of my life as a guy, I have witnessed my fair share of ‘Ripley’s Believe It Or Not’ shit in the gents’, both in Singapore and overseas. But this one deserves a special mention because it is a special kind of stupidity. Whatever happened at that Marina Square gent’s was not an isolated incident; the first time I saw something like that, it was even more incredible. The young dude at the next urinal was, hands down, an Olympian multi-tasker who was furiously mashing his thumb at a mobile shooting game while steadying his free-flying hose. I wrote it off as an outlier. That is, until a string of variations of the same encounter convinced me that piss-time entertainment is actually a thing.

When the GF got wind of this, it was swiftly followed by an audible ‘Ew!’ and a caveat about men’s unsanitary, diseased habits. “So from now onwards you better think twice about touching other guys’ phones, ah,” she said. Sure I won’t, I thought. If I had to be tainted with killer bacteria from bodily discharge, I’d much rather it be my own. Or maybe hers.

Unless you are out taking a shit – the only acceptable shituation when you’d have enough window for entertainment and productive time – I fail to see the merit in mobile tinkering during one’s tinkling. Why let electronics ruin the singular focus of a perfectly sweet urinary relief? Mother Nature definitely did not intend it to be that way, dude!

For the sake of personal hygiene, personal finance and common sense, I hope you guilty-as-charged gentlemen see the error of your ways. Whenever you have to go, go – but have your phone stay right where it belongs: in your pants. And remember to wash your hands. Until then, yes, I’m officially taking the piss out of you guys.

P.S. Let the Penis be the only P you whip out!