We Were Doomed!

Jamais Cascio has an unusually sober assessment of humanity's prospects in his latest posting.

The only thing I can add is this:

The world hadn't ended as promised.
Screaming in outrage, the mob gathered up all the doomsayers, tied them to stakes, and lit the flames.
Chants of 'Die! Die!' drowned the screams and protests. Through the smoke and haze, no-one else noticed the tall cowled figure standing beside Cascio.
"I don't understand" protested Cascio feebly, looking at his corporeal form crisping in the pyre.
"YOU'RE NOT THE FIRST." replied Death conversationally. It seemed to be what was required on these occasions.
"I mean, *why* didn't it all end? We had all the data we could have. Petabytes of it! We double checked the GEAS figures in a dozen scenarios: a DOZEN d'you hear? The margin for error just wasn't there!"
Death looked at Cascio with renewed interest.
"YOU ARE REFERRING TO THE RECENTLY AVERTED CATASTROPHE, THEN?"
"What else? It couldn't be avoided. There was no way we could have survived it. So... how?"
Death considered stories he'd heard when he was younger (if he ever *had* been younger). Morbid and cautionary tales of Deaths in other Universes consulting doomsayers and betting the graveyard in the futures markets. The trouble was, that nothing was separated from anything else, not really. It seemed to be something you forgot when you had discarded the personal touch of a scythe for an shiny, new, ultra-efficient combine harvester that just begged to be taken out for a spin. At that point, something about all those rotating knives seemed to get cause and effect a bit blurred.
"I THINK" he finally said. "I THINK THAT THE CLARIFYING PHRASE YOU SEEK IS 'TOO BIG TO FAIL'"
A smile lit up the shade's face as realisation dawned "Oh! Of course!" he whispered as he faded away.
Death contemplated the spot where Cascio had been, a frown trying in vain to crease his calcified brow.
"OR, MAYBE IT WAS 'BAKERS DOZEN?'"

- with apologies to Pratchett