Yes, this plane has a date with destiny, and no amount of incense, incantation, chanting, goat's blood, divine intervention, or prayer can change that. But destiny is a delicate thing, and even if nothing can stand in the way of the grand event, the finer details are malleable and subject to the ever-shifting sands of circumstance. How many forlorn souls are stewing in a distant afterworld right now, wishing they'd resisted the unbidden allure of the road less travelled and stayed home and watched television instead? Some roads are, after all, less travelled for a reason.

Here's your chance to play God; to perhaps sow a seed of despair for someone whose garden should be choked with its weeds. Who needs to be on this plane? Who needs to be beneath it? Would a different seating arrangement produce a more effective drag coefficient as the plane hurtles towards its fiery doom? Does Gilbert Gottfried have a twin brother who somehow escaped our notice? Never underestimate the power of suggestion or the boundless possibilities of telepathy and energy projection.

So give it a whirl. What's the worst that can happen--someone dies?