Just beneath the corny wackiness of Beetle Bailey is of course a constant undercurrent of brutal violence, but I’ve never seen it quite so explicit as it is today. We see Camp Swampy as a set of mutually hostile fiefdoms, whose simmering resentment towards each other could escalate to open carnage based on the most minor of disputes, with little that the camp commanders can do to restrain their nominal underlings. The final panel is particularly harrowing: Sarge, still so keyed up that he probably can’t even feel those visible bruises yet, stalking off wide-eyed from the mangled corpse of his rival, which he’s left among the strewn garbage and its stink lines.
Something about common property resources, I think.
