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A countdown of a thousand small good things, from the cold side of the pillow to popping bubble wrap, written daily for years.

The largest archive of 360 panoramas anywhere, pinned to a world map and free to browse, covering plenty of places no Street View car reached.

Collection of period-correct cursor trails — rainbows, bubbles, snowflakes, ghosts — demoed live so you can wave the mouse about.

The meme feed that reposts everything eventually, sorted into channels so you can choose your particular poison.

Twenty-eight escalating trolley dilemmas that end somewhere very silly, each showing the percentage of people who agreed with you.

Text adventure with no script at all: the model invents the world as you type at it, and will happily follow you somewhere absurd.

Janelle Shane feeds neural networks recipes, paint names and knitting patterns, then reports the wreckage with real affection.

A paused editorial preview that explains the sourcing and publishing controls required before stories return.

Community-built soundscapes of unhinged specificity, including several hundred separate takes on the Hogwarts common room.

Genuine industrial surplus sold with the best product copy on the internet: lab glassware, small motors, and 400 unexplained springs.

Type your address and spin the globe back 750 million years to see where that ground sat, and which ocean was sitting on top of it.

Upload a child's drawing of a person and it finds the limbs, rigs them and makes the figure dance. Research that turned out purely delightful.

Seattle's novelty institution: rubber chickens, emergency moustaches and an unreasonable number of items shaped like tinned meat.

Norwegian classified ads laid out with no grid, no spacing and no mercy, unchanged through every redesign trend since.

Decades of ASCII drawings sorted by subject, from cats to warships, every one of them ready to copy and paste.

Wiki of some seventy thousand birth charts with sourced birth times, each graded by how reliable the underlying record is.

Streams clips uploaded straight from phones with default filenames and no audience, drifting past like a broadcast from nobody.

A gazetteer of the world's odd corners — bone chapels, abandoned observatories, restaurants built inside caves.

Thousands of educational films saved from the skip — driver safety, dating advice, duck and cover — digitised by one collector.

A cheerful cartoon avatar generator in one fixed illustration style, endlessly recombined and free to use anywhere.

Two decades of other people's terrible family portraits, submitted willingly and captioned by the people in them.

Lorem ipsum made entirely of cured meats, for mock-ups where nobody was going to read the filler text anyway.

Filter by genre, format and city to find records sold directly by the people who made them, with full streams before you buy anything.

One-button basketball in which the players, the ball and the court are all changed at random between points, deliberately.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

A free endpoint that returns one cat fact per request, which is how every cat-facts prank bot ever built gets built.

Twenty years of forensic argument about how tall film stars really are, with photographic evidence and footwear analysis.

Estimated fortunes for anybody famous, sourced loosely, and impossible to stop clicking once you look up the first one.

A chihuahua rotating to a dance track, which was apparently a complete website idea in 2013 and somehow still is.

The offline dinosaur from Chrome's error page, playable while you still have a perfectly good connection.

Fourteen small experiments — spectrogram, harmonics, arpeggios — that explain how music works by letting you break it.

Parody religion with its own prophet, apocalypse date and merchandise, committed to the bit long enough that you stop being sure.