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The pop-tart cat, the rainbow and the song, with a counter for how many seconds of your life you have handed over.

Feed of products that should not exist, from bacon-scented soap to a hammock designed to hang under your desk.

The LiveJournal community that outlived LiveJournal, still posting celebrity news with the comment threads doing the work.

An encyclopedia of the world's writing systems, including the invented, the extinct and the barely attested.

A million checkboxes shared by everyone at once. Ticking them was pointless right up until people started writing messages in binary.

Open-source emoji set drawn by design students, free to use, and in several places noticeably better than the defaults.

Every railway line on Earth mapped with signalling, gauge, electrification and maximum speed, by people who care about this very deeply.

The souped-up fork of the infinite text canvas, with colour, links and long-running territory disputes conducted entirely in ASCII.

The New York Post's gossip column, now its own site, still running on restaurant tip-offs and unnamed sources.

Fold a paper plane, throw it, and catch one somebody launched in another country. Nothing else happens, which is the point.

Scroll to unroll an infinite toilet roll and scroll back to wind it up, presented by the artist with a completely straight face.

The longest-running games comic on the web, three strips a week since 1998, plus the posts that built an industry.

Random generators for anything, built from plain text lists you can fork and edit yourself. Thousands of community ones already exist.

A crowd-voted encyclopaedia arguing over the MBTI and enneagram type of every fictional character and public figure in existence.

Every adoptable animal in a hundred thousand shelters, searchable by postcode, which is dangerous browsing after 11pm.

Plays YouTube videos with almost no views, which turn out to be mostly a stranger's kitchen and a camera left running.

Puts your face on billboards, banknotes and museum walls using several hundred templates. Aggressively 2009.

Airtight's glitch lab, stacking VHS tracking errors, pixel sorting and RGB shift over a photo, a clip or your webcam.

A Japanese platform hosting tens of thousands of illustrator-made avatar makers, each one in a completely different style.

Names a pixel size and asks you to drag a box exactly that big. Nobody is as good at this as they assume.

Sprite editor with layers and animation frames, wrapped in an unusually friendly community gallery of other people's work.

Type a phrase and watch every film clip in which somebody says it, cut back to back until the words stop meaning anything.

Daily roundups of the funniest things posted elsewhere, a genre this one has been working since 2009.

Put your cursor anywhere on the page and it finds a photograph of a person pointing at exactly that spot.

Hand-listed index of useless websites, sorted into categories so you can choose your waste of time rather than roll for it.

A pastel multiplayer world whose real draw is the character creator, where people spend far longer than in the game itself.

Deadpan absurdism starring bears, birds and mildly disappointed men, published three times a week since 2008.

A British gossip newsletter of blind items and pop trivia, running since 2000 and still legally very careful.

Click the cat, the cat pops, and every click is added to your country's total in a global leaderboard nobody asked for.

A properly staffed magazine covering what is going right, funded by its readers rather than by outrage.

A shelf of harmless fake screens — cracked display, virus alert, retro desktop — meant for a colleague's unattended laptop.

A fake desktop of virus warnings, satellite feeds and password crackers, all keyboard-mashable in full screen.

Full-screen fake terminals, fake updates and fake system alerts. Harmless, closeable with Escape, and very funny on a colleague's screen.

Thousands of American industrial, educational and advertising films, all public domain and all quietly extraordinary.

Britain's satirical fortnightly, half jokes and half genuine investigative reporting, in print since 1961.

The RPG with the player removed: choose a race, then watch the bars fill for years. Still the sharpest joke about the genre.

A pug in a rug, plus a timer counting exactly how long you have now watched the pug be in the rug.

Five thousand strips of indie-rock relationship comedy with sarcastic robots, updating every weekday since 2003.

Doodle six things in twenty seconds while a neural net shouts guesses at you. The training set it produced now runs to fifty million drawings.

Take a quiz or build one and send it on. Results are shareable without anybody having to make an account first.

Four keys drive the four thigh and calf muscles of one Olympic sprinter, and none of them cooperate. The original rage game.

The internet's default supply of small animals doing small things, restocked constantly by thirty million subscribers.

The scene's main feed: databent photos, broken televisions and corrupted video, with the technique usually in the comments.

Crowd-sourced feed of well-made and gloriously pointless websites, and the closest thing left to a modern stumble button.

Strangers being decent to each other, collected into one feed for the days when every other feed has been too much.

Steady feed of new illusions with the comments doing the debunking, which is usually half of the entertainment.

Archive of the experiment where one button and one click each spawned genuine factions, martyrs and a working theology within days.

Two floppy archers, one bow each, and physics that decides the winner considerably more often than aim does.