We’re told rising seas and acidic oceans spell doom, but ancient cities like Dwarka sank long before fossil fuels. Corals outlived dinosaurs and the Cambrian heatwave. So why the sudden hysteria? A skeptical dive into climate dogma, scientific hubris, and the forgotten history buried beneath the waves. Bring your flippers—and your doubt.
Vienna swings from bone-gnawing winter to cobblestone-melting summer in a 56°C operatic range. The sun is the real conductor—tilts, wobbles, and tantrums setting the score. Yet some insist CO₂ writes the symphony. Ask them how well they understand the furnace 150 million kilometers away before they sell you salvation in parts per million.
Methane didn’t just light our stoves—it lit the fuse of life itself. Before plants, before sunlight, before cells, Earth burped out the chemistry that made us. And it still does. Demonized today, methane is in fact the most fundamental, renewable force on this planet. This is the molecule that farts existence into motion.
Climate change is not a modern invention. Rome’s vineyards, medieval abundance, and the frozen misery of the Little Ice Age all testify to natural cycles far grander than human industry. Warmth has always been the ally of civilization; cold its executioner. Yet we kneel before a narrative that mistakes carbon for original sin.
When electricity fails, civilization doesn’t vanish in an explosion—it rots in silence. Refrigerators warm, tempers fray, and the glowing idols of our age flicker out. What follows isn’t drama, but decay: food spoils, order falters, and trust collapses. Life after reliable energy is less apocalypse, more suffocation. And it’s already begun.
Once, the world shrank—compressed by coal, oil, and jet fuel into something you could circumnavigate between Friday lunch and Sunday dinner. Today’s prophets of progress promise a “green future,” but without hydrocarbons, the globe will swell monstrous again. Air travel dies, cities starve, and eighty kilometers will feel as impossible as Jules Verne’s eighty days.