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Type an email address and find out which breaches it turned up in. Troy Hunt's index now covers billions of leaked accounts.

The cult's own website, left exactly as it was in 1997 and still quietly maintained. A sobering artefact rather than a joke.

Tells you exactly when the space station will pass over your garden, and which direction to look.

A superhero character creator with a costume parts library deep enough to have outlasted three separate web technologies.

Shoot the alien whose colour matches the hex code shown. Learning to read hex by sight is an accidental side effect.

Falling blocks rotated onto a hexagon and sped up, which sounds like a novelty and turns out to be genuinely hard.

Placeholder text made of artisanal nonsense, optionally cut with real Latin for clients who prefer not to notice.

Every event on Wikipedia plotted as a dot across fourteen billion years, filterable down to one category at a time.

Old photographs pinned to the exact street corner where they were taken, fading into the modern view behind.

Tens of thousands of hosted model demos, each running in a browser tab. The closest thing machine learning has to an arcade.

Reaction time, sequence memory, the chimp test and verbal memory, each scored against millions of other people's attempts.

Charts and datasets tracking long-run trends in health, income and violence, useful ammunition for pessimistic dinner parties.

Allie Brosh's illustrated essays, including the two on depression that remain the best thing written about it.

The lolcat archive that taught the internet its first grammar, still posting captioned animals two decades later.

Spot the serif among the sans-serifs before the timer runs out. Ten seconds long and disproportionately stressful.

Every known way to lace and tie a shoe, diagrammed by one Australian for over two decades, including a knot he invented himself.

Several hundred psychological tests, from serious personality inventories to deeply unserious ones, all free and all instant.

Overlays one country on another to scale, then works out how your life expectancy, income and odds of various things would change there.

A map of the solar system drawn to true scale, meaning most of your scrolling is spent crossing absolutely nothing.

Mocks up a screenshot of a conversation that never happened, for jokes and design mock-ups rather than anything serious.

Catalogue, reviews and play links for four decades of interactive fiction, maintained by people who take the form extremely seriously.

Free illustrated repair manuals for phones, laptops, cars and appliances, plus teardowns that name and shame every glued-in battery.

Popular science headlines with the volume turned up, handy for the fact you half-remember reading somewhere.

A philosophy department's catalogue of illusions, each with what it is, what it demonstrates, and the argument still going about it.

Merge, split, compress, rotate, sign and convert PDFs from a single page. Covers nearly everything Acrobat charges a subscription for.

Warps a photograph through a draggable mesh, so faces melt by exactly as much as you decide they should.

Rebuilds a photograph out of coloured triangles, with sliders controlling exactly how abstract you want to get.

The canonical crowd-ranked list of 250 films, weighted to resist review bombing. A reliable way to spot the gap in your viewing.

Every meme template with the text boxes already in the right places, and no watermark once you find the setting.

Catalogue of impossible figures, ambiguous objects and Escher-adjacent architecture, kept up by one very devoted collector.

A calendar of every conjunction, eclipse and meteor shower coming up, with charts drawn for your own location.

Every plant and animal anybody has photographed and posted, mapped, with a community that will identify your mystery beetle within hours.

Dress beatboxers in different outfits and each one adds a loop, building a full a cappella track by drag and drop.

A sheet of bubble wrap that never runs out. Pop with a click or drag across a row, and it refills the moment you finish.

Combine two things to make a third, forever, until you have coaxed a language model into inventing something absurd.

Classic Mac OS booting instantly in a browser, with the software of the period already installed and ready to open.

Numbers-heavy tower defence with endless mode, research trees and the general energy of a very well-kept spreadsheet.

David McCandless's poster-grade infographics on everything from relative drug harms to the meanings of colours.

One big button, one badum-tss, for punchlines that need help landing in a meeting nobody is enjoying.

Step-by-step build guides for anything from a bookshelf to a plasma cutter, written by the people who actually made the thing.

The annual competition that decides what interactive fiction is this year, with every entry free to play in the browser.

The real museum of 25,000 banana-related objects has a website, and it looks exactly as you are already imagining.

Books, films, software, concerts and the web itself, archived at a scale no other institution has come close to.

The Archive's Flash collection, running thousands of dead games inside an emulator so the whole era stays clickable.

Archived research papers, including preprints and journals that have since folded, kept readable rather than merely cited.

A vast and aggressively plain archive of religious and mythological texts, essentially unchanged since the old web.

Where interactive fiction authors argue about parser design, post works in progress and review each other with alarming thoroughness.

Faithful browser rebuild of the Roland TR-808, down to the orange buttons and the cowbell nobody can leave alone.