🎪 Chaotic

Build ramps and walls while shooting, which is Fortnite's endgame extracted, simplified and handed over for free.

The meme feed that reposts everything eventually, sorted into channels so you can choose your particular poison.

One of the oldest portals still standing, from the era when a game loading in thirty seconds counted as instant.

Browser MMO that has shipped a story release nearly every week since 2008 and looks exactly as Flash-era as you remember.

Be a cell, eat smaller cells, flee larger ones and split to ambush. The game that invented this entire genre in 2015.

Text adventure with no script at all: the model invents the world as you type at it, and will happily follow you somewhere absurd.

Lists, quizzes and the sort of low-stakes internet reading that fills a break without requiring anything of you.

Norwegian classified ads laid out with no grid, no spacing and no mercy, unchanged through every redesign trend since.

One-button basketball in which the players, the ball and the court are all changed at random between points, deliberately.

Two-on-two street basketball stripped back to dunking, blocking and a shot meter you will consistently misjudge.

Community for adding glitter, sparkles and animated hearts to photographs, still busily active long after the trend died.

Browser Minecraft with party modes bolted on — parkour, bed wars, one-block survival — and multiplayer that joins in one click.

Eleven absurd brushes — blobs, tentacles, exploding dots — that make the composition decisions for you the moment you move.

Physics sumo where everybody is a circle, the only verb is shove, and the arena keeps getting smaller until someone falls off.

The original boredom portal, still sorting thousands of time-wasters into categories with no discernible editorial filter.

Weaponised arcade racing around an open city, with the loud handling model of a mid-2000s console game.

A collage assembled entirely from GeoCities pages — every GIF, marquee and tiled background salvaged and put back to work.

Cut-out cats rain down and bounce off the bottom of the screen, and you can grab one and fling it at the others.

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

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

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

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

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.

The biggest browser arcade going, with genuinely decent HTML5 ports and a search that mostly finds the game you meant.

Fast browser shooter with no account and no download: click, spawn, and get eliminated by somebody considerably better.

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

Isometric hack-and-slash that runs in the browser and does a competent impression of Diablo with nothing to install.

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

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

Balance a truck over obstacle courses clearly designed by somebody who has never driven anything at all.

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

A simulated 1990s desktop with a working browser, games and applications, assembled as a preservation project rather than a joke.

Infinite pixel canvas anybody can paint on live, with no undo, no brief and no moderation queue worth mentioning.

Found VHS footage cut into collages by a collective that also owns most of the world's remaining copies of Jerry Maguire.

Tens of thousands of fan-run wikis, each documenting one fictional universe in wholly unreasonable depth.

A voice shouts COW louder as your cursor gets closer to an invisible cow, and that is the entire game.

The pipe game its own creator pulled from the app stores for being too addictive, rebuilt and still ruining afternoons.

Draw a track, then ride your own drawing on a BMX. Millions of user-made levels, most of them designed to be cruel.

Part indie games host, part social network, where horror fan games and unfinished experiments live cheerfully side by side.

A large casual portal aimed squarely at people who want a match-three game and no further conversation about it.

Broken telephone with drawings: a sentence becomes a picture becomes a sentence, and the album at the end is the whole payoff.

Rhythm platformer in which a cube jumps in time with the music, and every death teaches you exactly one frame of timing.

Climb a mountain of junk using nothing but a hammer, and lose an hour of progress to a single bad swing.

Ragdoll obstacle courses in which the dad on the bicycle loses limbs to almost anything he touches, across millions of user levels.

Combine two things to make a third, forever, until you have coaxed a language model into inventing something absurd.

The party packs everybody streams: one screen shared with the room, everybody else playing from their own phone browser.

Home of BombParty, where a bomb passes round the room and you type a word containing the given letters before it goes off.