Good on a phone

Satire from a conservative and Christian angle, useful mainly as a read on what the other newsroom finds absurd.

Wiki for an infinite office nobody built, mapped level by level in damp yellow carpet by contributors who take it extremely seriously.

Canadian satire that assumes you follow Canadian politics, and rewards you handsomely if you happen to.

Australia's oldest newspaper, filed from a town with no remaining population, covering the nation with dead-eyed accuracy.

Millions of pages of declassified government documents prised out by freedom of information requests, free to browse.

One button, escalating nonsense, and no way onward except pressing it again. Works on a phone, which is the danger.

One large red button and a clear instruction not to press it. It gets increasingly personal about the fact that you keep pressing it.

Sweet wrappers collected and annotated for decades, arranged by how well the graphic design has survived contact with the present.

Profiles of thousands of American cold case disappearances, written and maintained by one person for decades.

The Australian team that built a career on television stunts, still publishing headlines that get them into trouble.

Every component you might need to build, with links to how twenty different design systems each named and handled it.

British satire in short bitter columns, mostly concerning the middle classes and the people who irritate them.

A reference of every chart type and what each is genuinely for, worth reading before defaulting to a bar chart.

Scroll from the surface to the bottom of the Mariana Trench, meeting every creature at the depth it actually lives.

Animal rescue stories with the video attached, engineered from the ground up to make you cry quietly at your desk.

A volunteer register of unidentified remains and missing people, matched by amateurs who keep on succeeding.

A scholarly reference to the whole genre, free to read, covering authors nobody else ever bothered to write up.

The original page describing the World Wide Web project, restored by CERN at its first address. Plain text and a few links.

Complete texts, timelines and scholarship for a writer whose entire output is public domain, on a site that has barely changed since 1994.

One of the first things the internet ever collectively lost its mind over, and it is still rows of dancing rodents and one loop.

Good news redrawn as illustrations by a designer who got tired of doomscrolling and built the feed he wanted instead.

A quarterly printed newspaper of good news and everyday heroes, illustrated throughout, with the archive online.

Punk and hardcore scene satire, written by people who clearly still go to shows and still resent everyone there.

Two Google search terms, one question: which one gets searched more? Your instincts are far worse than you think they are.

Aggregates everything the music blogs posted today into one stream, which is how people found new records before playlists took over.

One cat looking at a monitor showing a cat looking at a monitor, several thousand cats deep and still accepting submissions.

Scroll the length of an absurdly elongated shiba inu, with checkpoints and a leaderboard for the truly committed.

A catalogue of films, broadcasts and recordings that are known to have existed and cannot now be found. Some entries get solved.

Community-maintained film and television database with an open API, which is why half the apps you use are quietly built on it.

Long-form comics about grammar, cats, running and grief, from the man who also invented Exploding Kittens.

The original fake newspaper, whose headlines get quoted as fact often enough to sustain a small correction industry.

A hand-maintained index of free books online, run out of Penn since before search engines were any good.

Five solutions-focused stories a day, from a team that has been running this beat since the mid-nineties.

A stick-figure Dungeons and Dragons party in a story that turned genuinely epic somewhere around strip four hundred.

Timeline readings that describe periods rather than days, phrased as amateur psychology rather than fortune telling.

Beautifully drawn strips that set up a sweet premise and then take it somewhere very dark in the final panel.

Sixty-odd propositions place you on economic and social axes, then show you exactly where Thatcher and Gandhi ended up.

Essays and picture galleries drawn from the strangest corners of out-of-copyright print, film and illustration.

Visual essays answering questions nobody commissioned, like which pop lyricists have the largest working vocabulary.

Campaigns for the right to repair and runs community fixing parties, publishing the data on what breaks and why.

Australian satire in short sharp headlines, which is roughly the national attention span for domestic politics.

Scroll outwards from a human to the observable universe, with each step making the previous one look absurd.

A team counted every squirrel in Central Park and published the data, the maps and a full illustrated report on the findings.

Cecil Adams' archive of exhaustively answered daft questions, invented decades before you could just ask the internet.

Flick the switch on. A small hand reaches out and turns it off again. That is the entire website and it is somehow enough.

One button, one random pointless website, no explanation offered or needed. The site that turned this whole genre into a genre.

Type anything at all and watch it drift upward and dissolve. Nothing is stored, nothing is sent, nothing can be recovered.

Nearly a trillion saved web pages. Paste any address, pick a year, and see what was there — the single most important archive online.