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Ric and Paula Werme's sprawling family homepage mixes weather, programming, ARPANET memories, bicycle trips, legal work, data visualization, snow records, and personal history into one gloriously unoptimized website.
9-11 Research is a surviving early-web archive of photographs, reports, arguments, critiques, and disputed theories about the September 11 attacks—a useful artifact of how the independent Web handled one of the century's most contested events.
PoopNames.com is a wonderfully narrow relic of the novelty Web: a domain registered in 2003 and devoted to a funny list of names for various kinds of poop. No platform strategy required.
Bass Drop's Club began in 2024, but its guestbook, handmade games, crochet pages, status boxes, and unapologetically personal navigation revive the part of the web that platforms flattened out.
Terry Watkins' long-running anti-Santa page is a preserved specimen of early evangelical web culture: Bible quotations, pop-culture panic, occult claims, anagrams, and the absolute certainty that Santa Claus is not merely a holiday character.
Guns & Sand turned one of Alan Wagner's absurd fake organizations into a functioning website, complete with slogans, membership language, gun imagery, sand enthusiasm, and years of confused internet reactions.
Steve Olsen's GIF Pronunciation Page has spent decades assembling primary evidence, old CompuServe documentation, developer recollections, reader arguments, jokes, and later media coverage around one extremely durable Internet dispute.
Fluffy's World is a surviving 1994-1995 art-and-story site that was named Cool Site of the Day in January 1995, when personal creativity and a handful of handmade pages could still make a site feel like a discovery.
A Candy Rose became one of the Web's most extensive independent true-crime document archives, especially for the JonBenet Ramsey case, preserving timelines, transcripts, photos, court material, and links long before modern social platforms centralized the discussion.
Deuce of Clubs documented the Mojave Phone Booth through calls, desert trips, reader mail, press links, maps, and visit reports, helping turn one remote payphone into a late-1990s Internet legend.
Trafficcone.com turned traffic cones into mock natural-history specimens with invented Latin names, field-guide entries and altered artwork, creating one of the Web's more committed uselessly-useful hobby sites.
The Republic of Molossia's Navy pages turn a micronation joke into a long-running archive of tiny vessels, lake expeditions, diving-bell missions and deliberately over-serious naval bureaucracy.
The Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization launched its website in 1995 and built a long-running sightings database with geographic indexes, investigator notes and a Class A/B/C system based on the potential for misidentification.
101Bananas.com mixes banana lore, poetry, graveyard photographs, literary transcriptions, art, film notes, odd historical clippings and personal curation into the kind of sprawling homepage the modern Web rarely permits.
A Biblioteca Pleyades page preserves a dated index of late-1990s and early-2000s UFO claims about Saddam Hussein and Iraq, making it useful as an artifact of old-Web conspiracy culture rather than a source of reliable history.
Paul Cooijmans' sprawling personal site combines high-range IQ tests, psychometrics, music, prose, photography, philosophy, autobiography and occult material into a deeply personal independent web archive.
Kevin's old Blue Screen of Death gallery preserves airport kiosks, ATMs, billboards and other public computers failing in ways that were both embarrassing and weirdly memorable.
The Shadowlands assembled hundreds of sea-serpent and lake-monster reports into a sprawling hand-built cryptozoology index that still feels like pure old Internet.
asdf.com turns the first four left-hand home-row letters into a tiny, stubbornly simple website about typing, nothingness, experimentation, and the pleasure of owning a weird domain.
Syd Lexia's 2010 Top 100 Virtual Boy Games list is an elaborate April Fools parody built around a console whose entire commercial library was nowhere near 100 games.