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French satire named by scrambling Le Figaro, and taken seriously by French social media with depressing regularity.

The Lenny face and its several hundred descendants, catalogued and one click away from your clipboard.

Turns a question into a link that mimes typing it into a search box, for colleagues who never quite learn.

Looks like a plain platformer until the floor vanishes, the ceiling drops and the exit walks away. Trolling you is the actual mechanic.

Public domain books read aloud by volunteers, free to download, uneven in quality and endless in supply.

Car leasing sold via the loudest website ever built — animated GIFs, a theme-park aesthetic, and a real business underneath it.

Hundreds of small text translators — pirate, medieval, wingdings, uwu — plus a builder for making your own.

Wikipedia's index of its own indexes, which is either a long-running joke or the purest expression of the site.

Fakes a phone's live activity banner — a food delivery, a match score, a boarding pass — for screenshots and mockups.

Daily science news with a weakness for the strange finds — mummies, deep sea oddities, cosmic near misses.

A fake executive dashboard of charts and metrics that keeps updating itself while you stare thoughtfully past it.

Korean home cooking taught with video for everything, including how to make the kimchi rather than quietly buy a jar of it.

The same ramp-covered playground with strangers in it, all attempting the same enormous jump and all missing it.

An empty city full of ramps and supercars with no objectives at all, which turns out to be the entire objective.

Deliberately tiny paint tool inside a fake old window, with fat pixels and a palette that makes clumsy art look intentional.

One button, one progress bar, and the firm assurance that everything is now OK, which beats the alternative.

Everyone captions the same image, then votes on the best one. Rounds are short and a group works out its own humour quickly.

Generate a fake newspaper clipping, a talking animation or a ransom note. The 2005 internet, rebuilt so it still works.

Drops you on a random road somewhere on Earth in Street View and leaves you to work out where you are, or simply wander off down it.

An index deliberately built to favour text-heavy non-commercial pages. Ranking that punishes ad load instead of rewarding it.

Live map of which McDonald's ice cream machines are broken, built by repeatedly adding a sundae to a cart. Petty, rigorous, brilliant.

A platform where creators publish their own dress-up games, which is largely how the genre survived the death of Flash.

Where each meme came from, when it peaked and what it turned into. The internet's own footnotes, properly sourced.

Runs an image through the exact stack of saturation, JPEG damage and stray emoji that makes a meme look reposted eight times.

Vocabulary drills built around clips of native speakers saying the phrase in an actual street.

Trivia and origin stories written for the sort of person who reads the plaque next to the exhibit.

Long-running blog of illusions and visual puzzles, from classic ambiguous figures to whichever dress the internet is arguing about.

Search the web with the top million most popular sites removed. What is left is the internet nobody bothers optimising for.

Build a convincing fake post, chat or notification for a joke or a mockup. Watermarked so nobody mistakes it for the real thing.

Builds a photo mosaic out of hundreds of your other photos, free to make and zoomable right down to each tile.

The bike stunt series relocated to a water park, where the traps are inflatable and no less lethal for it.

One piano keyboard shared by everybody currently online, producing either a Chopin nocturne or an immediate car crash.

Art too bad to be ignored, collected since 1993 and catalogued with entirely straight-faced curatorial commentary.

Los Angeles museum whose exhibits may or may not be true, with a website built in exactly the same ambiguous spirit.

The largest soundboard on the web with a search box, which makes it either a toy or a workplace hazard.

Fictional US national park built inside a colossal living organism, documented entirely as tourist brochures and incident reports.

Canada put its entire animation and documentary archive online for free, and some of it is the strangest work any government ever funded.

Run a country by answering one absurd policy dilemma a day, then watch your statistics drift somewhere you did not intend.

The live feed from a deep-sea research ship's remote submersible, complete with scientists audibly losing composure over a new sea cucumber.

A blog of neat things — odd history, strange products, good comics — running since 2005 with no algorithm involved.

The 1999 virtual pet site whose real game was always the economy — shops, a stock market and genuinely vicious restocking.

The link at the end of every bait-and-switch since 2007, and the reason nobody fully trusts a shortened URL.

The chaotic original, still hosting animation and games uploaded since 1999, and still the least sanitised corner of the web.

UK spoof news updated several times a day, best read as running commentary on whatever is currently going wrong.

A morning briefing of good stories, written for people who want a news habit that does not ruin breakfast.

A ninja, flexing, to a backing track, at a frame rate suggesting nobody involved was trying especially hard.

Retail and service workers' stories about customers, filed daily, and a bottomless argument for tipping generously.

Everybody notable enough for a Wikipedia entry, plotted at their birthplace, so you can find out who else came from your town.