Not I, but a recent incident between lock-downs which in no way matches those above. Names changed.
I habituate a proper gentleman's drinker, occasional ladies come as guests or partners, which is nice. Bill, 50's, has been on the Guiness all night and chatting with lady guests then pops to the loo and, at the slash panel, decides to lose the fart he'd been wrestling with to protect their dignity. He felt quite uncomfortable, and staggered to a cubicle where he dropped his pants to find a savage and runny follow-through with occasional lumps spreading out of the gusset into his trousers. I'm sure we've all been there.
Anyway, he's wearing fashionable beige builder's boots, 11-holes fully laced-up, and decides he'll never get them undone in order to disrobe, so starts trying to break the 'neck' of his underpants but the elastic is too strong and, contorted in the cubicle, he can't get a decent grip. He hears someone else come in and, as we're all good mates, shouts a drunken challenge which is replied by young Ben, a known mate and occasional sharer of Bill's illicit chemicals in the car park. Bill explains his problem and Ben, relatively sober by comparison, said "FFS, get out here" to try to help. Now the pair of them are stood in the plain view area of the gent's loo. Bill says "Just snap the waistband elastic, they'll tear off then", so Ben gets on his ******* knees to try to rip these disgusting shreddies, with all liquid shit on his fingers but it won't rip. Bill says, "You smoke, use your fag lighter to burn it through". Ben is now amazed that he even volunteered to help, but he can't get any shittier so he gets his fag lighter out, scrolls up the waistband, and sets light to it, a slow process with a small flame.
Eventually the waistband starts to burn, but only drips flaming globs of plastic onto Bill's shit covered calves, which causes him a lot of pain so they both slap the flames out with shit-covered hands, burning their fingers as well. The situation can't deteriorate much further, but nobody has come in yet so BIll sends Ben to the club kitchen to get a knife. Bill stands alone, pants to his ankles and now covered in shit and burnt hair, smelling like a bad kebab shop, in the middle of the bogs waiting for Ben to get back but, like a good lad, Ben's tried to wash his hands before going in the kitchen. He returns with the biggest knife, but blunt as ****, kneels down and eventually saws through the waistband on both sides, leaving Bill to get some ******* discretion by retreating to a cubicle, flushing the pan and using that clean (but blue-loo) water to try to get himself clean but ruining his beige trousers. Ben, the younger, realises he's been fitted up because he's still got Bill's appalling pants in his hand, so he tries to lob them out of a window which only opens four inches for security, then takes a ten-minute hand-washing session.
Hours later, Ben gets romantic company with a lady guest his own age and has taken her upstairs to a private room, where the window is open. Ben says nothing beyond "Going to freshen up" as he runs downstairs, through all the doors and corridors to get out the back to recover the CBRN trolleys and fling them in a bush some distance off, then return to the bathroom and a grateful lady.
To the absolute credit of Bill, and later Ben, Bill came in the next day and told maybe a dozen of us he'd rather we knew from him than listened to gossip which might come out if young Ben was put under pressure, and told us the whole story himself.
Integrity, integrity in action. I'm so proud of them.