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OK, everybody, at long last: the complete list of Self-Clubbing Tyler Lookalike Contest entrants! Let’s start by taking a look at the glorious panel itself in all its glorious glory:

And now, to refresh your memory, the entries you’ve already seen. The first is from a reader who likes to be known as Dr. Jeff Corey. He sent several variations on his picture; this is the one I liked best.

Dr. Jeff’s lovely and talented wife, Lucy Van Pelt, added this Brynna Antenna cameo.

(You might remember Lucy as the winner of the Finger Quotin’ Margo contest. This is one family that just can’t get enough of the comics character imitatin’!)

But back to Tyler. Next up is faithful reader Harold. “I think a few neighbors are probably wondering why I had my 10-year-old nephew taking pictures of me whacking myself in the head with an oak tree branch,” he says.

Faithful reader Johnny Cat uses special effects to capture Tyler’s dead, dead eyes:

Faithful reader Kevin created a Tron-like virtual world wherein his self-clubbing took place:

And finally, here’s faithful reader Lee’s entry. “That orb is actually a basketball, a really dirty basketball,” he notes.

This bunch was indeed righteous and awesome, and it inspired a host of new entrants, who are you seeing now for the first time!

Let’s start with faithful reader TurtleBoy. “It ain’t much for accuracy, but I like the mathematical formulas in the background,” he says. (Does anyone in Milford actually understand math, other than Brick House?)

This one arrived without comment through my smoldering modem:

Faithful reader Gadge Cubic, Mole Preener offers this two-for-one head bash/M!B!S! merch model shot:

Here’s one from self-described “mostly lurker” hypochrismutreefuzz. I’m curious about what appears to be a cage apparatus in the background.

John B. used the power of PhotoShop for his entry (at least I hope so). “Please note the highly accurate hair curl,” he says.

I reproduce for you here the entirety of the note that accompanied this pic from faithful reader Wally Lamb:

Dear Sir/Madame:

I won this contest fair and square. I didn’t do anything wrong. I never filed a police report. I never accused anyone. Everyone thinks I’m stupid, even Brynna. But I got one over on all of you!

And finally, here’s faithful reader Spotted HØrse. He’d like to assure you that photographic trickery, and not Mother Nature’s cruelty, is responsible for the shape of his noggin in this photo.

The inimitable and awesome Dean Booth, you may recall, has created a Self-Clubbing Tyler Action Figure, which is going to serve as the prize for this here contest! Here he is in mint condition in his original packaging:

And this is what the playset looks like when you get it all put together:

And, oh yeah, did we mention that it has mechanical parts that really work? You’d better believe it, buddy!

Still more pics are available on Dean’s Web page, including a good one of the back of the action figure’s bloody head. Anyway, it’s going to be excruciatingly difficult for me to figure out who deserves this most, so look for me to take another week of farting around to do it. Meanwhile, debate the merits of the entrants in the comments on this post! You may sway me! You may not! But you’ll enjoy it!

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Gil Thorp, 5/19/07

Everyone who’s been whining about how relentlessly depressing and maudlin Funky Winkerbean’s cancer storyline may change their tune once they get a load of Gil Thorp’s frenzied, hard-to-follow take on the same material. My guess is that Coach Mrs. Coach Thorp is not, in fact, being told that she has cancer — the “bad news” will be that her insurance co-pay has gone up from $20 to $40 or something — but her student will spread the news to her squabbling teammates that Coach is on death’s door, and hilarious lesser-Shakespeare-comedy-of-misunderstanding-style hijinks will ensue, interspersed among Clambake’s down-home, vaguely racially offensive antics. It’ll be all cleared up right around the time the Lady Mudlark softball team gets bounced in the second round of the playdowns, and we’ll all learn a valuable lesson: namely, that nobody you actually know will ever get cancer.

Meanwhile, nobody will pay attention to the emotional and physical scars left by the vicious monkey attack on Blondie McWhatshername in panel three. The sinister simian has already clawed off most of her nose, and now it’s coming back for more.

Blondie, 5/19/07

It was distressing enough to learn that the Bumsteads’ neighborhood is full of vicious feral dogs who travel under the cover of night. Now we see that even the day isn’t safe, as this middle-school mafia travels from house to house demanding cash for work they don’t perform. The suburbs are even more terrifying than I could have imagined!

Apartment 3-G, 5/19/07

Some might argue that the revelation that Lu Ann’s veins are filled not with blood but some viscous black fluid indicates that she’s a robot, which would go a long way towards explaining her limited emotional range and general dimness. I prefer to believe that she’s been possessed by the X-Files’ black oil, and that “Albert Pinkham Ryder” is an avatar of the alien invasion force that’s been forcing her to paint endless numbers of boring fern watercolors to advance their sinister and inscrutable plans. In makes as much sense as anything else, which is to say: none at all.

9 Chickweed Lane, 5/19/07

A lot of people have been kvetching about this week’s 9 Chickweed Lane, in which Edda waxes maudlin about how nobody seems to understand the difference between being a dancer and being a professional dancer. As a non-traditional-job-having type myself (though my wife informed me this weekend that I did not actually qualify as “funemployed,” as much as I might like the word), I had a bit more sympathy than most, but even I was finding it pretty wearisome by the end … until suddenly it turned into Edda wearing short shorts and encountering a centaur, or unicorn, or something in the middle of a New York City park, and BAM! HOW YA LIKE ME NOW? It’s totally insane and doesn’t make any sense, but at least it’s more fun that Lu Ann’s leaky, addled skull.

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Gil Thorp, 5/18/07

Gil Thorp continues to be unspeakably filthy. In panel one, Brynna “mishandles” Lisa’s “sinker,” if you know what I mean (and I think you do); as a result of that “collision,” her shoulder is sore the next day. Fortunately, she still has use of her right arm.

Hi and Lois, 5/18/07

Young Chip Flagston, sittin’ in a tree
down-load-ing porn-o-graph-y.

Mary Worth, 5/18/07

Mary loves her pithy little bits of advice, but there has to be some kind of internal house rule that a pearl of wisdom, once used, can never be repeated; that explains why, after 67 years in the meddling business, her sayings have gone from the helpful to the platitudinous to something at odds with everything we know about how time and space work. I don’t care how at peace you are with the past, people: you cannot astrally project yourself back in time and change what happened. Mary Worth is right in that white doctors shouldn’t trouble themselves with charity work in filthy foreign countries, but she’s off-base here.

Slylock Fox, 5/18/07

To me, the look on the dog’s face doesn’t say “lazy” so much as “has lost the will to live.”