In my days of fraternising with Soho pub scumbags, I once met a theatrical old queen, a veteran of Tin Pan Alley, who told me the following horrific but strangely believable story: apparently, the manager of '80s pop group Dollar, incensed by the band demanding more royalties (I think, can't remember the exact dispute - maybe it was a tax write-off), decided to set the Dollar bloke up with a diseased whore, so he'd contract syphilis and pass it on to the Dollar woman - effectively causing a scandal and splitting the pair up. Or maybe he wanted to fuck the Dollar woman, I can't remember now.