The joke density of “Strip Law,” so rare on TV these days, makes it enormously likeable. So do the vocal performances. .... But there’s also a deftly cultivated backstory that gives Lincoln’s arc some emotional stakes on top of its entertainment value.

Most fans of edgy cartoons, and comedy in general, will love Strip Law’s shameless pursuit of debased jokes, along with its casino-like overstimulation.

The series felt a little off-putting at first, as if it were straining for effect, but gathered steam as it went on, either because the later episodes are weirder or better written, or because one just gets used to being in that world with those people.

Satire, even manic stuff like this, needs perspective just as much as joke velocity. Strip Law stands accused of biffing a solid concept, though its enthusiasm in doing so is hardly a crime.

It’s all reasonably amusing, but there’s nothing to distinguish it from the raft of other animated sitcoms that have emerged in recent years.

If you asked me to explain why I found it very difficult to build a connection to the show that goes deeper than “I can’t wait to see what weird ’80s thing they’ll acknowledge next,” it’s that, for all their checklist of traumas (well-summarized with gynecological specificity in the penultimate episode), none of the characters in Strip Law feel like…people.

“Strip Law” just isn’t funny. As with all comedies, your mileage may vary, but I couldn’t even get through the first season. Maybe you like “Hoops,” too.