“Archer” is a fleet, filthy sitcom, an animated half hour about a spy who is convinced that he’s the center of the universe. Created by Adam Reed, the series, on FX, blends James Bond plots and “Mad Men” looks, then marbles in the surreal silliness of “Get Smart.” The show’s shark-jawed antihero, Sterling Archer (the voice of H. Jon Benjamin), works for the International Secret Intelligence Service (ISIS), an organization run by his emasculating, hard-drinking mother, Malory (voiced by Jessica Walter, who also played the emasculating, hard-drinking mother on “Arrested Development”). Sterling is self-centered, vain, a pig to women, and one step behind every clue, but from his perspective he’s the cat’s meow. He’s Don Draper, if Draper were an international spy and had been drained of every ounce of gravitas.

The best raunchy sitcoms feature idiots but are not themselves idiotic. Illustration by Andy Martin

In an episode that aired last week, Sterling is forced to explain a recent world-spanning sex binge to his Russian fiancée, Katya, who had died months before, then been revived as a cyborg. (Yes, that was the plot—an advantage of working in animation.) “I was emotionally shattered,” Sterling explains to the she-bot in thigh-high boots. “Which, as it turns out, is kind of a panty-dropper.” She forgives him, although she also leaves her detachable vagina in his sink, then betrays him with his cyborg enemy. But Sterling’s redoubtable libido marches on. In another episode, he takes a detour from his mission when a redneck woman offers up hot pie. “It would be rude not to eat her pie,” he argues to his colleague. “Which is probably not only hot but also moist.” Brief pause. “Although hopefully not flaky.”

Do you like these jokes? If you don’t, please don’t watch “Archer.” If you do, come sit by me, and every other fan of the rising breed of what one might term “dirtbag sitcoms”: crass, confident comedies that feature idiotic characters but are not themselves idiotic. (If you want to watch a purely idiotic sitcom, Chuck Lorre’s “Two and a Half Men” is still running on CBS, experiencing werewolf-intensity growing pains in the wake of Charlie Sheen’s departure.) Several of these series are on FX, a cable station with a strong dirtbag bench, especially “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia,” an ensemble comedy about friendship among sociopathic barflies. After seven seasons, “Always Sunny” is still merrily spinning out plotlines for all five degenerates, including the rare dirtbag woman, Sweet Dee (Kaitlin Olson). In December’s two-part finale, the “Sunny” gang went to their high-school reunion, where they confronted peers who were hip to their tricks. “I was going to take you to an empty broom closet and I was going to bang the shit out of you,” Dennis (Glenn Howerton) shrieks at a hot woman who is, understandably, backing away. “And then I was going to neglect you emotionally. That’s what I do!” As this dialogue suggests, the show’s taste ranges from salty to caustic. But, in contrast to a series like “Two and a Half Men,” which offers a high-five to every conquest, the zingers on “Always Sunny” and “Archer” work like serrated boomerangs, whipping around to clip the delusions of the pickup artist, rarely his victim.

FX also has “Wilfred,” a less effective dark comedy about a man and his pot-smoking, semi-imaginary dog, as well as “Louie,” a smart experimental sitcom about a divorced comedian and father of two girls, created by and starring Louis C.K. (This semi-autobiographical character is too intelligent to be a dirtbag, but he’s self-loathing enough to see himself that way.) Meanwhile, on HBO, there’s “Angry Boys,” a mockumentary by the Australian comedian Chris Lilley, which just finished its run with little fanfare; it’s worth checking out on demand. As in his earlier series “Summer Heights High,” Lilley transformed himself to play nearly every character, including the rural twins Nathan, who is deaf, and Daniel, a lummox whose bedroom walls are plastered with posters of his pop heroes. Like many dirtbag comedies, “Angry Boys” shares DNA with Ricky Gervais’s version of “The Office”; the twins’ grandmother (also played by Lilley), who runs a boys’ detention center, seems, upon introduction, awfully David Brent-ish—she’s a bully who insists that her subordinates love her. But, as the show’s lens widens to show the lives of Daniel’s Wall of Legends, who range from a Japanese teen skateboarder to a hater-obsessed rap musician, Lilley’s complex empathy shines through. “Angry Boys,” with its shaggy, improvisational scenes of humiliation, can be harder to watch than “Archer” ’s naughty vaudeville. But there’s something rare and original about Lilley’s insight into his teen showoffs, who are the sort of characters that most shows would reduce to comic relief or cartoon villains.

Kenny Powers, the puffed-up jock on HBO’s “Eastbound & Down,” could easily be plastered on Daniel’s wall alongside the other Legends. The comedy—produced by Adam McKay and Will Ferrell,* the auteurs behind the movies “Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby” and the classic “Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy”—stars Danny McBride as a washed-up, drug-addled former pro baseball player with a greasy mullet and eyes squinched in rage. Powers is bloated like a tick on his lost fame; bumped from the big leagues, he ping-pongs between jobs, chasing “trim” and the comeback he’s convinced is his due, picking up enablers along the way. In the season’s final episodes, Kenny careens into reality head first. His ex-girlfriend has left him with a baby, Toby, whom he keeps trying to palm off on other people. A buddy overdoses, so Kenny steals his truck. In mournful moments, he can see that he’s falling short, although he insists that he’s a victim. “I feel like my life has become ‘Requiem for a Dream,’ ” he says. “And I’ve got a front-row seat to the ass-to-ass scene.” There are bits of dialogue, and a few scenarios, that cross my line in the sand of grossness. (There are only so many dildo jokes one woman can take.) Still, “Eastbound & Down” holds together so well that it’s worth looking past the ugly for the solid performances and the charcoal-black humor beneath, particularly in the final episodes, which delve into Powers’s family history.

Each of these comedies maintains a tricky balance: they puncture their dirtbag’s delusions, but the satire stems from something deeper than contempt. If he’s a bully, we understand his rationalizations. If he’s a predator, the women around him aren’t just prey. (On a few of these shows, the ladies get down in the dirt, too, particularly on “Always Sunny” and “Archer,” which features both savvy and cretinous female characters.) On a show like “Two and a Half Men,” the primal joke was on lesser, envious men, as well as the skanks who fell for Charlie Harper’s wiles. The version that starred Sheen was tactical enough to savage its own showman now and then—but it always came back to glamorizing him in the end. (Now that he’s gone, the show keeps picking the scab, with a cameo by Patton Oswalt as a Sheen-like figure.)

This troubling dynamic holds true on cable, too, particularly in the later seasons of “Californication” and in the repulsive new series “House of Lies,” both on Showtime. These shows may have fancier suits and a veneer of verbal wit (or sometimes more than that: in “Californication” ’s case, the slapstick occasionally redeems the hideous story), but, like “Entourage” before them, they’re soul brothers to “Two and a Half Men.” We’re meant to look up to their scummy protagonists, to believe that, despite their cruelty, these guys are in fact smarter, sexier, and more talented than those who try to bring them down. This self-pity poisons the fun, rendering even the algorithmic nudity—which is surely half the reason that viewers tune in—grim rather than hot. “Who can turn their backs on a sad clown?” Hank Moody (David Duchovny), the star of “Californication,” whined in a recent episode. Me! Me!

These two styles of dirtbag comedy threaten to fold into one when Sheen returns to TV—on FX, of all places. (On “Two and a Half Men,” he’s been replaced by Folgers Crystals, in the form of Ashton Kutcher.) The cable network has bought Sheen’s comeback show, “Anger Management,” a decision that sent a ripple of apprehension through fans of FX’s lineup, especially those of us who disapprove when abusive addicts are rewarded with meaty creative opportunities. I won’t lie: I’m biased against Sheen’s latest project. But the actor’s likability aside, I can’t condemn any show until I see it, even one that arrives trailing tiger blood. ♦

*Adam McKay and Will Ferrell are the producers of “Eastbound & Down,” not the creators, as originally stated.