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Thousands of recipes in metric with honest timings and star ratings left by people who genuinely cooked the thing.

Eight hours on the networks that existed before the internet reached homes, released free by the person who made it.

Chiptune tracker with a whole song's worth of channels, shareable as a URL that contains the entire tune inside it.

Photo editor and collage maker aimed squarely at people who want a decent result without learning anything first.

A company worth hundreds of billions serves a homepage of plain blue links, unchanged since the 1990s and quietly proud of it.

Annual contest in which vision scientists compete to fool you, with every finalist since 2005 still watchable.

Maths explained by intuition first and formulas second, by someone who clearly resented how he was taught it.

India's monuments, crafts and regional history laid out as something you explore rather than something you revise.

The personality model psychologists actually use, in a clean 120-question version with a proper breakdown of every facet.

A countdown big enough to read from the back of the room, which is the only real requirement a workshop timer has.

Centuries of natural history books scanned page by page, including illustrations nobody has looked at in decades.

Cyberpunk progression game where the way forward is writing real JavaScript to automate your own hacking. Learning it is the game.

Anonymous celebrity riddles where readers do the detective work in the comments and are occasionally proved right.

Community for adding glitter, sparkles and animated hearts to photographs, still busily active long after the trend died.

The volunteer lightning detection network behind most live strike maps, with raw data and instructions for building your own receiver.

Drag four blobs up and down and they sing genuine four-part harmony, trained on real opera singers, always in key.

Sculpt a glossy blob with sliders for noise, light and iridescence, then leave it rotating and admire your handiwork.

Monkeys pop balloons along a fixed path, and the upgrade trees behind that sentence are deep enough to justify the reputation.

Browser Minecraft with party modes bolted on — parkour, bed wars, one-block survival — and multiplayer that joins in one click.

Roll a rectangular block across floating tiles into a hole, with switches placed to force you to think in three dimensions.

Ben Eater's flocking simulation with the three rules exposed as sliders, so you can break the flock deliberately.

Eleven absurd brushes — blobs, tentacles, exploding dots — that make the composition decisions for you the moment you move.

The cat plays whatever key you press, on bongos, a keyboard or a full drum kit. Peak internet, and still maintained.

Physics sumo where everybody is a circle, the only verb is shove, and the arena keeps getting smaller until someone falls off.

A blog that has been finding the best browser escape and point-and-click games every week since 2005, and is still posting.

Endless listicles of art, design mishaps and comment-section drama, engineered to eat a lunch break whole.

The original boredom portal, still sorting thousands of time-wasters into categories with no discernible editorial filter.

The screensaver logo in full screen, with a counter for how many times it has hit the corner while you waited.

Code-breaking tools and a cipher identifier for when you have a string of nonsense and no idea what it is.

Plain, well-sorted illusion collection with the explanation directly underneath each one, from café walls to impossible triangles.

Tens of thousands of riddles, brain teasers and lateral thinking problems submitted by users since 1999.

Dual n-back, the working-memory drill psychologists keep arguing about, implemented properly and charted over time.

A scrappy free collection of brain teasers and n-back drills that has been quietly online since long before the app stores existed.

People staple bread to trees and photograph it. There is no deeper explanation available and no sign of it stopping.

The write-draw-write chain game that predates the current crop, still running, still free and still producing pure nonsense.

Brown bears standing in an Alaskan waterfall catching salmon in mid-air, live from Katmai, and the reason Fat Bear Week exists.

One page per leak channel — WebGL, canvas, WebRTC, DNS — each showing precisely what your browser hands over without being asked.

Every recipe costed per serving and per batch, with step photos throughout. Built for people cooking against an actual number.

Weaponised arcade racing around an open city, with the loud handling model of a mid-2000s console game.

Chuck banknotes into an open grave with the mouse, accompanied by an unreasonably committed soundtrack.

Plays the notification sounds of Slack, email and Teams on a loop so it sounds like somebody urgently needs you.

Enormous plain-text library explaining what every placement and aspect is supposed to mean, unpaywalled since the early 2000s.

A breathing bubble with adjustable pace, sitting on a page that mercifully does not require the app to work.

A collage assembled entirely from GeoCities pages — every GIF, marquee and tiled background salvaged and put back to work.

Two near-identical interfaces, one of them subtly wrong. Getting past the third level takes an unreasonable amount of care.

Opens as ASCII candy counting up on a blank page and quietly becomes a full role-playing game with a sea, a shop and a dragon.

Thirty-odd card games with competent bots, no accounts and nothing covering the table. The default answer to fancying a game.

Cut-out cats rain down and bounce off the bottom of the screen, and you can grab one and fling it at the others.