Coffee break

Team deathmatch with a built-in level editor, played mostly by people who memorised every map years ago.

Records a page as you browse it, capturing the parts a crawler cannot — logged-in views, video, anything behind a click.

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

Home consoles from the Atari era onward, running in the browser. Mostly worse than you remember, which is part of the appeal.

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.

Home of Conway's Game of Life — pattern archive, wiki and a board for setting your own cells running.

Recipes laid out as a table of operations instead of prose, so you can see at a glance what combines with what and when.

The entire tower defence shelf in one place, sorted by how many people are currently playing, none of it requiring an account.

Reader-submitted horror stories with narrated versions, sorted so you can pick your poison: rituals, dolls, or something in the loft.

Scores films for you by finding users whose past ratings track yours, then weighting their opinions. Recommendation with the maths shown.

Wordle in reverse: you are handed the green and yellow clues and have to reconstruct the guesses that could have produced them.

An explorable on how ideas and riots spread through a social network, with the contagion thresholds under your control.

The volunteer-edited web directory that outlived DMOZ, still organising the internet into a category tree by hand.

Tower defence from the villain's side, defending your gems from heroes using demons, orcs and the undead.

Crude four-panel strips with a mean streak, running since 2005 and still finding fresh ways to end badly.

GCHQ's cyber swiss army knife: chain base64, XOR, hashes and regex into a recipe and watch the data transform at every step.

The animator who taught the internet to be afraid of cows, with every looping nightmare he has made collected in one place.

Screenshots of manipulative interfaces caught in the wild, named and dissected. Grimly entertaining reading.

A weekly newsletter of unusual public datasets, with an archive of thousands you had no idea were collected.

The charting tool most newsrooms quietly rely on, free at the sizes any one person will ever need.

Harry Brignull's catalogue of interfaces built to trick people, complete with a hall of shame and the resulting case law.

Start as a shrimp, eat, evolve into something with teeth, and repeat in an ocean full of players doing exactly the same thing.

Google's hallucinating network turned into a service, still perfectly capable of putting dog faces into absolutely everything.

Fly a helicopter, wall off territory with towers, then defend the shape you just drew from everybody else.

German satirical news delivered with a completely straight face, plus a weekly video bulletin, running since 2008.

The 2007 original that turned maze building into a genre, played across a desktop with the icons still sitting on it.

Photographs of the city's abandoned schools and factories, paired with the records of the people who taught and worked in them.

The original single-player dice conquest game: no accounts, no sound, no explanation, and still a perfect twenty minutes.

The same six panels of clip-art dinosaurs every day since 2003, with entirely different words in them each time.

A browsable index of every named dinosaur, with size comparisons and the period each one actually belonged to.

Serious dithering workbench with dozens of algorithms, custom palettes, live preview and a video mode as well.

Mine dogecoin with a shiba inu until you can afford to buy the moon. The year 2014, preserved in fully playable form.

Hundreds of dress-up games covering mythology, history and fandoms, drawn by actual artists rather than an asset pipeline.

The deck-building game that invented the genre, officially online, with a free rotating selection of kingdom cards.

A curated DOS library with working touch controls, which makes it the rare emulator front end that is usable on a phone.

Pixel canvas designed for thumbs first, fed by a huge stream of daily themed drawings from a mostly Japanese community.

Team drawing race: two teams, one word, and the first side to guess it takes the round. Faster and shoutier than the alternatives.

Full flowchart, floorplan and network-diagram editor that saves to your own drive and has never once asked anyone for money.

Telephone played with drawings: describe a picture, draw a description, and watch the chain derail over twelve steps.

Tune a car, hold the handbrake and score points for angle rather than lap times. The garage is quietly the actual game.

Thirty-two Wordle boards at once, thirty-seven guesses, no mercy. The logical end point of the whole 2022 craze.

JavaScript demos in 140 characters. The gap between how little code there is and what appears is the whole appeal.

Nature recordings from named places with coordinates attached, so you know exactly which rainforest you are sitting in.

The 2001 humour portal that somehow still updates, with the same mix of clips, pictures and questionable taste.

Interactive classroom illusions you can drag, toggle and pause, which makes the effects considerably harder to dismiss.

A museum of Google easter eggs that Google removed — gravity, the barrel roll, the mirrored search — all restored and working.

Every emoji with its meaning, its history and how it renders on each platform. Settles arguments in one link.

The professional encyclopedia, still going, and a useful second opinion whenever Wikipedia gets contested.