The 33 Best Cartoon Men in TV History (2024)

It seems silly to say, but we will: A man watches cartoons. Not watched. Watches. He watches for nostalgia. Or to appease his kid. Or because they're made for him and not the kid (which is why a good many nowadays air after bedtime). No matter the reason, cartoons have informed how nearly all of us live — with their bravery, good-heartedness, or even downright stupidity. And so here we've picked our favorite 33 men — loosely defined to include boys and male-gendered creatures and robots — in television cartoons, and explained why we think they're the best.

Though first, a quick note: The goal was to be as comprehensive as we could. But we also knew that that was a foolish goal, that there'd be no way that we could ever include everyone. So if there's anyone missing, please make your case in the comments. We'd love to hear them.

Anyway, on with the show...

Until I was about 12, other kids would call me Butt-Head, probably because I had brown hair and braces, laughed at everything, and my best friend and constant sidekick was blond and overactive. Now I don't mind the comparison. Butt-Head was in many ways the more genial and intelligent and less annoying of the duo. He really did laugh at everything. And he had the last laugh. What seemed at the time like a lot of dumb jokes on a dumb show about cultural ephemera has become, twenty years later, eerily similar to the crap people tweet and laugh about every day while watching reality TV. Butt-Head showed us the way.

—Paul Schrodt

The premise for Archer — a spy comedy with lilting unnatural animation — isn't particularly promising, but the resulting show is nearly perfect. With H. Jon Benjamin, Judy Greer, and Jessica Walter in the cast, Archer has the all-star lineup of voice-over actors to deadpan its hilariously black breed of comedy, with Hitler clone Kreiger and choking-enthusiast Cheryl complementing Archer and his viciously selfish mother. But at the show's center is Archer himself — narcissistic to the point of obliviousness, so attentive to his clothes that he makes sure to change into a black turtleneck before assassinations, connoisseur of which co*cktails to drink after losing pints of blood, and quite willing to watch p*rn while talking to his mother at the same time. His ringtone is a song called "Mulatto Butts." Which sort of says it all.

—Stephen Marche

"Gee, Fred…" his best pal Barney's refrain echoes, years later. If there was ever any lovable synthesis of the dumb male who done good, it would be the flawed Mr. Flintstone. When he got off the clock at the rock quarry, his cravings were simple: bowling massive helpings of roast porkasaurus, time spent with his darling wife Wilma, time spent away from his darling wife Wilma (by my assessment they fought at least 1.38 times an episode), and alcohol (at the Loyal Order of Water Buffalos Lodge, of course). Without Fred you wouldn't have Homer. Hell, you wouldn't have primetime animated series, period.

—Eric Vilas-Boas

He’s a righteous cub stuck with a cuddly-wuddly name that undermines his intelligence, as well as his status as the voice of reason in a world gone mad with pic-a-nic basket greed. Well, world: really we mean Yogi Bear, who technically is Boo-Boo’s world. He spends each day rising in the morning, putting on his snappy bow tie, then hanging out with Yogi for the rest of his waking hours, voicing his concerns, repeatedly, about Yogi’s life of food-stealing crime. Yet this loyal, gentle-voiced soldier continues to act as the accomplice, unwittingly finding himself in situations that drive Ranger Smith completely nuts. Boo-Boo is way too smart for this life. It’s obvious that he should ditch Yogi, leave the confines of Jellystone Park and start a career as a life coach or, perhaps, a designer who sells quirky bow ties on Etsy. But he won’t, because Boo-Boo is the Jesse Pinkman to Yogi Bear’s Walter White. He’s Boo-Boo, bitch.

—Jen Chaney

What can be said about The Boondocks that Huey, Riley, and Granddad haven't said more eloquently already? It's impossible to choose the best man on the show because they're so different and yet dependent upon each other. Some of Huey's most political diatribes often come out when he's either calling out his Granddad or fighting with his brother (or when he's saving one of them from Uncle Ruckus's latest racist plot). The ageless Granddad would be wisdom personified if he wasn't so concerned with what the neighbors thought. Riley's younger than Huey, a thug, and in many ways more interesting than either of them because we're watching him learn that criminality and gangsta culture isn't always productive. Does The Boondocks represent an accurate portrayal of what black people feel in America? No. But it offers a hilarious counterpoint, often with truth and nuance. Also: Kung fu.

—Eric Vilas-Boas

On a show with so few sympathetic characters, run by a pretty unsympathetic person, that's suffered from more formulaic decay than perhaps any show of its sub-genre, it's really, really hard being the largely witless middle-child son. Chris Griffin, because of his weight, age, parenthood, and the Evil Monkey hiding in his closet, is portrayed as an immature buffoon. But while most of the characters flaunt their iniquities for all to see, Chris manages to stay naive and — shockingly — to still love his father after much torment. He might be the only man on the show you feel something for.

—Eric Vilas-Boas

"Eat my shorts" is so much lamer than "Bite my shiny metal ass," it's a shame that Futurama's Bender wasn't the first Bender on screen. And he may be the most consistently likable character on the show, but you need Fry to balance out Bender. Fry's got the best heart on the show's crew of misfits, and from the first episode he's been put through the wringer constantly, adapting to 31st-century life incredibly quickly. Bender wants to drink, smoke, and possesses "swarthy Latin charm" (having been built in Mexico). Their dynamic on Futurama was wonderful: Bender kept Fry on his "Do Not Kill" list, and Fry's wanted a robot for a friend since he was six. Meant to be.

—Eric Vilas-Boas

That Carl Brutananadilewski is considered a stereotype on all men by his creator and voice, Dave Willis, is pretty unsettling. After all, the tormented neighbor of Master Shake, Frylock, and Meatwad is a loud, lewd, obnoxious, fat, unkempt, hairy, and ignorant bald man who wears sweat pants everywhere and loves sports, p*rnography, and Lover Boy. Wait. sh*t. That last part is pretty accurate. Well, hopefully none of us were forced to eat carpet swatches for Christmas dinner.

—Matthew Kitchen

Everything great about Game of Thrones was bound up in a single cartoon character almost 20 years ago. For but a single season of Gargoyles, Goliath lived in a castle, overpowered all kinds of challengers like The Hound, flew like a dragon, and led his crew as honorably and stubbornly as Ned Stark. But he never lost his head, his castle was on top of a fking skyscraper in Manhattan, and I don't even know how they kept the sound booth from exploding as Keith David boomed through Goliath's lines. Just watch the opening theme and try not to say the same exact thing as this guy on YouTube: "'Now the spell is broken and we live agaiiiiin!!!' F*CK YEAAAAAAH!!!!"

—Mike Nizza

Dudley Do-Right, Canadian Mountie and "lonely defender of justice and fair play," effectively defined the childhood understanding of the hero archetype: he’s brave and daring with a strong chin, chivalrous, well-spoken, and will do anything to stop Snidely Whiplash, an arrogant sociopath hell-bent on tying women to railroad tracks. But unlike most famous heroes, no one grows up wanting to be a Dudley Do-Right. Because sure, he means well, but as a dimwitted naïve idealist, his name, like his nationality, has become a lasting pejorative. We may all aspire to do good, but none of us want to be a do-gooder. It just seems like more fun to be Batman.

—Matthew Kitchen

The cool kids in your life (as in, offspring and office interns) watch Adventure Time. Because while a hero’s journey is nothing new, the show's imagination is unparalleled, while it still has an old-school ethos at the show’s core: the kindness of Finn the human. Finn maintains a personal code to help anyone in need — whether you’re a half-rainbow/half-unicorn, a princess made of fire or a pie-throwing robot. The high road may lead to occasional danger, but it wouldn’t be a true adventure any other way.

—Nathan Mattise

Plenty of “at least we have each other” families exist on TV, though none are as charming as The Belchers. One moment they run the best greasy burger place in town, the next they reunite mannequin-turned-men with their mannequin wives. Among the beneficiaries is eccentric real estate mogul Calvin Fischoeder. The Belchers posed as his family, and Bob cooked Fischoeder the meal of his life — a world-changing burger called the Meatsiah. Thankfully, Fischoeder epitomizes graciousness. How else do you explain this summer-suit-wearing Daddy Warbucks-type singing about elephant love for a Belcher kid science project?

—Nathan Mattise

Most of us associate claymation with the worlds of Wallace and Gromit, Bob the Builder, and Gumby. But Moral Orel isn't for your three-year-old — it's not a fun show, by any measure. And yet whether we're watching Orel get beaten with the business end of his father's belt, or regurgitate (often made-up) dogma, or see his parents accidentally swap his younger brother with another child and ignore the fact, it somehow manages to be funny, if only in the absurdity of it all. But it's never fun, and it's never fair to 12-year-old Orel — the same way the path to maturity wasn't always fair to you, but always worth it nonetheless.

—Eric Vilas-Boas

Of the Scooby Doo gang, Scooby and Shaggy were always the major players — and we can certainly see why. Scooby’s comedic timing and trouble with annunciation was impeccable, and Shaggy’s masterful delivery of before-his-time stoner humor (even if it was schticky from time to time) made each mystery entertaining, even if the plots were redundant. But of course, a man should not take any cues from Scoobs or Shaggy… ever. Fred, the gang’s leader, is clearly the choice for today’s man. He’s a leader. He’s calm under ghastly situations. His haircut is well-trimmed, above the ears. And his fashion sense is simple, yet classic and elegant. It’s this sensibility that makes Fred one of the more polished ‘toon examples of modern manhood.

—Mike Ayers

I’ll say it: With apologies to the Springfield-faithful, South Park has taken the throne. No show makes transitioning from immigration-commentary to fart jokes look so easy while remaining as damn funny as South Park. Somehow, it’s as topical and relevant as it was in 1997. There’s been a constant through it all: the resiliency of one Kenny McCormick. Through five seasons, not only did he navigate a tough economy and an overweight bully… but Kenny died at least 70 times only to continually bounce back. He was dead for nearly all of season six and didn’t even let that stop him. Tough work week? At least you didn’t deal with those bastards.

—Nathan Mattise

In the Looney Tunes world, we learned a lot about the uses of dynamite, shotguns to the face, talking pigs, and high-maintenance ducks. But the show’s most iconic figure, Bugs Bunny, has the ability to transcend the rabbit world, where we can see one standout quality that a man should own. It’s all about how he chews those damn carrots — and the cool confidence that he exuded. But deep down, we all knew how prized this sustenance always was. For a rabbit, a carrot, by rule, will always be better than some grass. But Bugs played it off like a champ, always acting as if a carrot was no big deal, that they were as plentiful as a field of clover. In other words: he was well aware of the humble-brag before the humble-brag existed — and more importantly, the toxic effects those would have on his character.

—Mike Ayers

Linus Van Pelt is a man of faith. We don’t mean religious faith, although the kid does know his Bible verses, especially when he needs to make a point about the true meaning of Christmas. But perhaps more importantly, Linus believes in himself, his friends, and his dreams. He’s the rock in horizontal stripes, the kid insecure enough to carry around a security blanket but secure enough not to care if people judge him for it. He’s the friend to Charlie Brown who, above all others, is reliable and true, steadfast through Christmas tree controversies and Thanksgiving meals of popcorn, pretzel sticks, buttered toast, and jelly beans. Linus’s faith in the most questionable mythological holiday figure ever, the Great Pumpkin, scarcely wavers, even when he’s berated by his sister, slapped with Sally Brown lawsuit threats and questioned by Charlie Brown — Charlie Brown, of all people — the round-headed kid Linus has supported through years of missed football kicks and Little Redheaded Girl angst. Still, like the Red Sox fan who stuck it out through decades of a Bambino curse, Linus doesn’t stop believing. In fact, at this very moment, in a pumpkin patch that’s very sincere, Linus Van Pelt can probably be found still waiting for that Greatness, with patience, resolve, and a hope that no one can break.

—Jen Chaney

The idea that comedians are just working through their psychological sh*t on stage is kind of cliché now, maybe because of how seamlessly the material transitioned from the nightclub to the couch of Dr. Katz, Professional Therapist. When compared to Frasier's constant need to lift up society with his drive-time radio advice, Katz's mmhm’s and sure’s in the face of a comedian's superficial ramblings actually made a more comforting and more realistic depiction of therapy. And that Katz's mild-manner mediocrity didn't need to overshadow his patients, or really even be that funny to be enjoyed, was unique to the genius of the show and the man behind it.

—Matthew Kitchen