Ten minutes to kill

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.

Guided meditation for people who have never meditated, starting at two minutes and never once mentioning chakras.

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

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

A community-maintained open database of internet radio streams with no company behind it, which is why the odd little stations survive there.

Spin a globe covered in green dots and drop the needle on a live local station anywhere on Earth. The buffering is part of the charm.

Human-curated and listener-supported, mixed like an album rather than a playlist, at an absurdly high bitrate if you want it.

A tidy directory of tens of thousands of broadcast stations by country, genre and topic, with nothing to sign up for before you press play.

Pick a country and a decade on a world map and hear what people there were actually listening to, curated by humans since 1900.

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

Rain radar for most of the world with a past-and-future loop, which answers the question of whether to leave now in about four seconds.

Half an hour of rain and distant thunder on a loop, running since before background noise was a productivity category.

One button, one random inhabited spot on Earth in Street View, most of them somewhere nobody would ever have chosen to look.

Every train on the British network with the signalling data attached: which loop it was held in, where it lost four minutes and why.

Leaves a trail of emoji behind your cursor. There is nothing more to it than that, and nothing more is needed.

Drop in a photo, get a clean cut-out back. It handles hair, which is the part that used to take an hour.

Translations shown inside real bilingual sentences, so you can see which option a person would actually use.

Rhymes, near rhymes, synonyms and usage examples — quietly the best tool available to anyone writing anything.

A hundred yes-or-no questions about things you may have done, counted downward from 100. A student rite of passage since the 1980s.

Two-button duel on a rooftop where recoil, rather than aim, decides which of you falls off the building first.

Sandwiches rotating slowly on a loop, under a tagline that reads simply, and accurately, that's it.

The percentage that launched a thousand arguments — the share of critics who were positive, which is not an average score.

Three colour fields flipping between red, green and blue as you move, a fixture of the useless-web canon and a strobe risk.

Tells you the best three minutes to leave for the toilet during any film, and summarises exactly what you missed. Absurd, and it works.

Live cameras on pandas, penguins, apes and elephants, with keepers wandering into shot at feeding time and narrating as they go.

A falling-sand game with several hundred materials that all react properly, including a dozen ways to end the world by mistake.

Reverse image search tuned for illustration: hand it a cropped screenshot and it names the artist and the original post.

Conservation campaign for a cephalopod that lives in trees, used for over twenty years to teach children about checking sources.

Drag one slider from quantum foam to the cosmic web, with every object in between labelled at its true size.

Find one to twenty-five scattered across a grid, in order, against the clock. The standard peripheral-vision and attention drill.

Rough sketch in, finished image out, with the result following your actual lines rather than politely ignoring them.

One piano, several people, one link — everybody's keys light up in a different colour and it descends into noise fast.

A first-person shooter in which every player is an egg and every hit is messy. Considerably better than that premise deserves.

A daily high-resolution photograph from the early twentieth century, usually with commenters identifying the buildings.

Ragdoll obstacle course whose entire design goal is taking your stickman apart in an inventive new way each level.

A live feed of OpenStreetMap edits as they happen, zooming to each contributor's patch of the world one small correction at a time.

A no-frills portal unusually strong on two-player games you can play on one keyboard with somebody sitting next to you.

Enter any two articles and get every shortest path of links between them, drawn as a graph you can drag.

Live HD cameras on piazzas, beaches and ski slopes across Europe and beyond, which is the closest a browser tab gets to a day trip.

The custom emoji every workplace eventually accumulates, downloadable as a pack. The party parrot is in there.

Grow a snake on glowing pellets and cut other players off so they burst into more of them. The .io boom started here.

Roll a ball down an endless neon slope at rising speed until the geometry wins, which it always eventually does.

Three-minute kart deathmatches with weapon crates and absolutely no patience for anything resembling a racing line.

The National Zoo's cameras on lions, elephants and naked mole rats, publicly funded and refreshingly free of any advertising.

An endless sheet of virtual bubble wrap that pops under the cursor and quietly refills itself behind you.

The original rumour desk, still patiently establishing whether the thing your uncle forwarded actually happened.

Two-legged football played with a single key, in which the physics engine scores most of the actual goals.

Klondike that loads in under a second, with nothing on the page except green baize and the cards.