For the condition your condition is in:
1. Have you seen the full-page newspaper ads for HUMIRA (yes, they use all caps), the rheumatoid arthritis drug from Abbott Laboratories that promises to put the fun back in dishwashing? Seriously: There's a photo of blue household gloves up in the corner, and a headline that chirps, "Doing Dishes Could Be a Splash ... and is just one of the daily activities you may be able to do with less pain and stiffness." Last month the San Francisco Chronicle's Jon Carroll devoted a column to the absurdities in that ad—the list of risks and contraindications covers just about everything short of leprosy. But he didn't address my own quibble: When you turn the page and read the legal boilerplate, you see this heading: HUMIRA® (HU-MARE-AH). Huh? I would have said hu-meer-ah or hu-my-rah, but there's no way I would pronounce an i like an a. So what gives? Here's my theory: Humira (I refuse to yield to the all-caps mandate) is a semi-acronym for Human Monoclonal Antibody in Rheumatoid Arthritis. If it were a real acronym, it would be spelled HuMAiRA ... and pronounced Hu-mare-ah, as prescribed. Someone deleted the a but forgot to alter the pronunciation. (P.S. Forget about dishwashing gloves: One of the contraindications is an allergy to latex.)
2. They may spell it AcipHex, with a capital H to tip us off to pH balance, but it's still pronounced ass effects. Which would be fine if it were a hemorrhoid medication, but it's not. (Hat tip: Barry Nordin.) UPDATE: See Wishydig's 2008 post on the reasoning (?) behind AcipHex.
4. Talk about designer drugs: Create your own, named for you and customized for symptoms of your choosing. Say hello to Nancitol, the answer to itchy, flaky thorax, vermilion rashes, and difficulty ruminating! (Hat tip: Karen at Verbatim.)