The old internet

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

Every letter on the keyboard fires a sound and a matching shape, and mashing the whole row is the correct way to use it.

Historically accurate emulations of early PCs, down to the timing, with the original manuals and ROM listings alongside.

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

Colorado's library of physics, chemistry and maths simulations, used in classrooms everywhere and free to meddle with.

Interactive tests designed to find the contradictions in your own stated beliefs, the classic being Battleground God.

Two decades of the pixel art scene's best work, still curated by hand and still running weekly drawing challenges.

Live flight tracking with an augmented-reality view, for pointing a phone at whatever just went over the garden and naming it.

A plain, fast game server that has outlived every redesign trend since 2001 and still hosts chess, draughts and mahjong.

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.

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.

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

A twenty-year-old particle sandbox where wind, fire, magma and ice all interact, with thousands of saved player scenes.

The sequel, with proper solid objects and adjustable gravity, and a public save gallery going back well over a decade.

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

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

Seventy thousand public domain books, plain and free, from the oldest digital library on the internet.

Harvard's implicit association tests, measuring the biases you would never report about yourself. Uncomfortable, rigorous and free.

Free monthly puzzle sets designed to be solved in a pub, with a decade of archives you can print at home.

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

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

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

Horror fiction posted as though it were true, under a rule that commenters must play along. The good threads run for weeks.

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

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.

The obsessive's music database, where every release is rated, charted and argued over by people with extremely firm opinions.

A snarkier reference work covering pseudoscience, conspiracy theories and the people making a living from them.

Amit Patel's tutorials on pathfinding, hexagonal grids and noise, with every parameter exposed as a slider you can ruin.

Finds your nearest free community workshop where volunteers help you fix the thing instead of replacing it. Thousands worldwide now.

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

The definitive index of American roadside oddities: the giant fibreglass animals, the museums devoted to exactly one thing.

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

The first Samorost, free in the browser, a wordless point-and-click about a small gnome diverting a planet off a collision course.

Daily gag strips about science, philosophy and human awfulness, each hiding an extra panel behind the red button.

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.

Collaborative fiction dressed as containment paperwork for anomalous objects, written by thousands of people in one clinical deadpan.

Recipes that explain the science first and then tell you what to do. The food-lab pieces are why it has the reputation it has.

Search engine for internet-connected devices rather than pages: webcams, routers and industrial kit nobody meant to publish.

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

Symmetrical generative art that blooms under the cursor, which everybody who touches it turns into a wallpaper factory.

Deb Perelman cooking from a famously tiny New York kitchen since 2006, testing everything obsessively and writing about it well.

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

Listener-funded, advert-free channels out of San Francisco, Drone Zone and Groove Salad among them, going since the dial-up era.

The South Park character maker that has been running since 1999 and still gets updated with props from new episodes.