I was watching Dr. Phil today.
No, that's not the sign. That's just cruising around the dial waiting for the printer to print and stumbling on a trainwreck. Don't blame me; blame Hewlett Packard.
No, the sign is that the teenage girl he had on who sat there, with her little ferret faced boyfriend, explaining why a couple of 16 year olds (or whatever) were totally, totally able to take care of a baby. Their baby. Kids today.
And no, a knocked up cherubic teenager isn't the end of times. Hell, in some religions, that's the beginning of times. No, the end of times? What they named the unfortunate little sprout.
They named their kid Miley.
Make it stop.