👽 Weird

The 1999 virtual pet site whose real game was always the economy — shops, a stock market and genuinely vicious restocking.

The chaotic original, still hosting animation and games uploaded since 1999, and still the least sanitised corner of the web.

A ninja, flexing, to a backing track, at a frame rate suggesting nobody involved was trying especially hard.

Everybody notable enough for a Wikipedia entry, plotted at their birthplace, so you can find out who else came from your town.

Feed of products that should not exist, from bacon-scented soap to a hammock designed to hang under your desk.

An encyclopedia of the world's writing systems, including the invented, the extinct and the barely attested.

A million checkboxes shared by everyone at once. Ticking them was pointless right up until people started writing messages in binary.

Every railway line on Earth mapped with signalling, gauge, electrification and maximum speed, by people who care about this very deeply.

The souped-up fork of the infinite text canvas, with colour, links and long-running territory disputes conducted entirely in ASCII.

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

Random generators for anything, built from plain text lists you can fork and edit yourself. Thousands of community ones already exist.

A crowd-voted encyclopaedia arguing over the MBTI and enneagram type of every fictional character and public figure in existence.

Plays YouTube videos with almost no views, which turn out to be mostly a stranger's kitchen and a camera left running.

Puts your face on billboards, banknotes and museum walls using several hundred templates. Aggressively 2009.

Airtight's glitch lab, stacking VHS tracking errors, pixel sorting and RGB shift over a photo, a clip or your webcam.

Hand-listed index of useless websites, sorted into categories so you can choose your waste of time rather than roll for it.

A pastel multiplayer world whose real draw is the character creator, where people spend far longer than in the game itself.

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.

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

The scene's main feed: databent photos, broken televisions and corrupted video, with the technique usually in the comments.

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

Steady feed of new illusions with the comments doing the debunking, which is usually half of the entertainment.

Archive of the experiment where one button and one click each spawned genuine factions, martyrs and a working theology within days.

One button, one random inhabited spot on Earth in Street View, most of them somewhere nobody would ever have chosen to look.

Blows one image up into a multi-page halftone poster that you print at home and tape across an entire wall.

Leaves a trail of emoji behind your cursor. There is nothing more to it than that, and nothing more is needed.

A hundred yes-or-no questions about things you may have done, counted downward from 100. A student rite of passage since the 1980s.

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

Sandwiches rotating slowly on a loop, under a tagline that reads simply, and accurately, that's it.

Three colour fields flipping between red, green and blue as you move, a fixture of the useless-web canon and a strobe risk.

Conservation campaign for a cephalopod that lives in trees, used for over twenty years to teach children about checking sources.

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

The world's largest supplier of real and replica skulls, browsable by species, which is educational and mildly alarming in equal parts.

Extrudes type into three dimensions, wraps it round shapes and lets it drift, exporting the result as a loop.

Wiggle the mouse and a black worm follows; wiggle harder and it strobes violently, so treat the epilepsy warning seriously.

Gag gift shop selling the same reliable nonsense since the dot-com boom, on a layout that has aged in real time.

Non-commercial web search indexing only pages carrying no ads or trackers at all. A very small and very different internet.

One click copies the Lenny face, the shrug or the look of disapproval to your clipboard, correctly escaped.

Converts an uploaded photograph into ASCII, HTML or coloured text art, with the character density under your control.

A personality test that assigns you one of forty-odd animals, with write-ups considerably sharper than the premise deserves.

Daily edit of objects, gear and short videos picked by somebody with taste and no obvious interest in sponsorship.

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

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

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.

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

Every possible page of text that could ever exist, already written, sitting at a findable address.