Good on a phone

Where the bridge world actually plays: free tables at every hour, tournaments, and teaching rooms of remarkable patience.

The write-draw-write chain game that predates the current crop, still running, still free and still producing pure nonsense.

Brown bears standing in an Alaskan waterfall catching salmon in mid-air, live from Katmai, and the reason Fat Bear Week exists.

Every recipe costed per serving and per batch, with step photos throughout. Built for people cooking against an actual number.

Plays the notification sounds of Slack, email and Teams on a loop so it sounds like somebody urgently needs you.

Enormous plain-text library explaining what every placement and aspect is supposed to mean, unpaywalled since the early 2000s.

A breathing bubble with adjustable pace, sitting on a page that mercifully does not require the app to work.

Thirty-odd card games with competent bots, no accounts and nothing covering the table. The default answer to fancying a game.

A free endpoint that returns one cat fact per request, which is how every cat-facts prank bot ever built gets built.

Twenty years of forensic argument about how tall film stars really are, with photographic evidence and footwear analysis.

Estimated fortunes for anybody famous, sourced loosely, and impossible to stop clicking once you look up the first one.

Anime avatar makers with genuinely good line art, including versions that output something usable as a profile picture.

Per-component checklists — buttons, forms, cards, empty states — covering the things everyone forgets until review.

Chess tactics training with a rating that goes down, plus an endgame trainer that reveals exactly how much you do not know.

The default chess address for most of the planet, with a bot for every skill level and puzzles that will quietly humble you.

A chihuahua rotating to a dance track, which was apparently a complete website idea in 2013 and somehow still is.

Long branching novels where your stats matter and the prose does not embarrass itself; a good number play free in the browser.

Community-written choose-your-path stories with ratings, which is the only thing keeping the good ones above the fan fiction.

Google's stripped-back sketchpad — pencil, pen, marker, chalk — with pressure support and absolutely no other features.

The offline dinosaur from Chrome's error page, playable while you still have a perfectly good connection.

Fourteen small experiments — spectrogram, harmonics, arpeggios — that explain how music works by letting you break it.

Five photographs, one question each: what year was this taken? Points scale with how close you land, and the cars always give it away.

How far you can get by train from any European station in five hours, drawn as coloured bands. Ruinous for an afternoon's productivity.

Parody religion with its own prophet, apocalypse date and merchandise, committed to the bit long enough that you stop being sure.

Decades of adverts preserved exactly as broadcast, including the jingles you will regret having remembered.

Paint over the tourist, the bin or the power line and it fills in whatever should have been behind them.

Click monsters, hire heroes to click for you, then ascend for souls. The clicker that dragged the whole genre onto Steam.

Viral-content parody taken well past the point of sense, including quizzes that insult you for finishing them.

A global membership devoted to looking up, with a cloud of the day and a manifesto against blue-sky thinking.

Curated stumble button that sends you somewhere good rather than somewhere random, with categories if you are feeling fussy.

Fill-in-the-blank sentences mined from real corpora, aimed squarely at people who have outgrown the beginner apps.

NASA ephemeris data, brutal one-line notifications and a design language everyone copied. Astrology delivered entirely deadpan.

The word-association board game in a free, well-built online room: two spymasters, one grid of code names, nothing to install.

Run a coffee stand for fourteen days, adjusting recipe and price daily, and learn more about margins than from any lecture.

The murmur of a café without the queue or the cost, built on research that moderate background noise helps creative work.

Settlers of Catan in a browser tab, complete with the trade negotiations and the one player who will not give you wheat.

Hand-picked four-colour palettes posted daily and sorted by mood, with none of a generator's randomness.

Sixteen words, four hidden groups, four mistakes allowed. The traps are the entire point and they are very carefully set.

An audio museum of sounds made by objects that no longer exist — dial tones, shutter clicks, the whirr of a rewinding tape.

Guess the secret word and be told only how semantically close you got. Rank 4,000 feels like progress, and it very much is not.

Click the cookie, buy grandmas, buy portals, accidentally summon something. The game that turned incrementals into a genre.

Generates hero images — gradients, particles, triangles, topography — at whatever resolution you need, free to download.

The site every school network forgot to block, still hosting Run 3, Fireboy and Watergirl and almost no actual mathematics.

Hit the space bar for a five-colour palette, lock the ones you like, hit it again. The whole tool is that loop.

Nest and feeder cams run by the Cornell Lab, with ornithologists in the chat explaining what the bird is doing and why it matters.

One button that adds unicorns and rainbows to any web page, solving a problem that has never once been reported.

Upload any file and receive a genuinely corrupted version back. Built for missing deadlines, used mostly for art.

The same premise with different flavours of damage — choose the format and how thoroughly you want it ruined.