👽 Weird

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.

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

A student sold a million pixels of advertising at a dollar each in 2005. The mosaic is still up, and most of the links now go nowhere.

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

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

Ten thousand sheep drawn by anonymous online workers paid two cents each, displayed together as one enormous grid.

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.

Daily gift catalogue for things nobody needs, and the reason several of your friends own a novelty tap they never use.

A shared Unix server where members publish plain HTML pages under their usernames. Started as an experiment in 2014 and still going.

Reddit's fact firehose, where each post is one verified surprise with the source link attached underneath.

Scanned cereal boxes going back decades, with full career histories for the mascots, maintained purely for its own sake.

Bounces a sentence between English and Japanese until the two versions agree, which they rarely do politely.

Send tiny creatures up an infinite tower, die, come back stronger. Years of content behind an interface that gives no quarter.

Vast unofficial archive of avant-garde film, sound and writing, run on no budget whatsoever and hosted like it is still 1998.

The community record of Cicada 3301, the recruitment puzzle whose final book has still never been deciphered.

Where teenagers make the quizzes: which sad indie song are you, which Greek deity would pity you. Anyone can build one in minutes.

A small publisher of deliberately pointless web projects, including several gag sites you have probably been sent.

Curiously awesome products sold through absurd demonstration videos, most of which are more entertaining than the item itself.

Home-taped VHS uploaded wholesale to the Internet Archive, adverts, tracking lines and accidental recordings included.

Home of a long list of absurd browser games and quizzes, several of which have quietly consumed entire office afternoons.

Four-panel strips whose punchline usually involves death, drawn by two Germans with impeccable comic timing.

Eighty live webcam effects, most of them terrible, all of them fun for exactly the ninety seconds required.

Software-defined radio receivers around the world you can tune through a browser, listening to shortwave through somebody else's aerial.

Genuinely baffling real product listings pulled from the big marketplaces and presented with almost no commentary.

A relationship graph of everybody famous, cross-referenced far past the point of reason and updated constantly.

Search engine for hand-made pages in the spirit of the early web, with a surprise-me button that behaves exactly like 1998.

One click, one random Wikipedia article, repeated until the afternoon has quietly gone somewhere else.

Wikipedia's own catalogue of the pettiest disputes in its history, including years of war over a hyphen.

The editors' own curated list of the encyclopedia's strangest entries, and the best rabbit hole entrance there is.

A dilemma, a tempting benefit, a horrible catch, and the percentage of everybody else who pressed it regardless.

A parody desktop that gets progressively stranger the more of its programs you open. Start with the solitaire and keep going.

An operating system that never existed, built in a browser, with its own applications and a genuine sense of its own history.

A vast, barely filtered pile of browser games including a great many Flash-era oddities kept alive by an emulator.

Infinite shared canvas of plain text where anyone can type anywhere. Scroll far enough and you find things nobody meant you to read.

Piles combining diacritics onto every character until your text bleeds into the lines above and below it.

You can do anything at Zombo.com. The welcome message has been loading since 1999 and it has never once explained itself.