If you’ve ever had a friend whose sole talent seems to be the ability to conjure up snappy put-downs and raunchy insults, then you’ve met Max Black, the character of Kat Dennings (“Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist,” “Thor”) on the new multi-camera comedy “2 Broke Girls.”

Black is a twenty-something diner waitress with a sharp wit that she uses to eviscerate annoying customers, the flirty Russian cook, her clueless boss, and occasionally herself, when she’s in the mood for some self-deprecation.

Looking to shake up Black’s routine is Caroline Channing, played by newcomer Beth Behrs, a rich, clueless heiress who is now broke after her father was implicated in a financial scandal and arrested. Now waitressing alongside Black, the two opposites strike up the sort of bickering friendship that only TV can create, after Channing reveals that Black’s boyfriend was cheating on her.

Kicking out the boyfriend, Channing moves in with Black, and the two cook up a scheme to open a cupcake shop as their way of raking in the big bucks.

Pairing someone rich or formerly rich with someone poor has been a popular comedy trope stretching all the way back into the annals of history. As such, it’s up to the show’s writers and the actors to put a fresh spin on the material, or at the very least, make old concepts seem tolerable. Luckily, this show has Dennings, who has some amazing timing and comedic chops that help give the impression she’s coming up with these put-downs off the top of her head, and not reciting memorized lines.

Behrs, on the other hand, does not get a lot to work with. Her character’s a typical dumb blonde who means well, but she makes her character sympathetic without being pathetic. If you’re going to be across a person who insults you roughly every 30 seconds, you better make it seem like she’s enjoying the other’s company, and she at least gets that across.

Raunchy humor

I’m guessing that if “2 Broke Girls” were to be aired on local TV, it would draw the ire of moral watchdogs and the like, because of its raunchy humor. Once upon a time, “Sex and the City” raised eyebrows for its frank portrayal of single girls looking for love and loving, but that was on HBO in the US, and when it did come over to our shores, it was shown late at night, and then heavily edited on local channels.

“You think this (snaps fingers) is the sound that gets you service, I think this is the sound that dries up my vagina,” Dennings chastises a hipster customer in the show’s pilot.

“Could you do me a favor and open the back door?” Behr asks in the second episode, to which Dennings replies, “We’ve known each other two days and you’re already asking for back door?” Now I personally find that stuff hilarious, but if you’re looking for something more highbrow, then you’re in the wrong place.

When you boil it down, more than the chemistry between the two leads, which is quite abundant, it’s the writing that will decide how successful this show will be. There’s a fine line between clever, crushing smack talk and unfunny, insensitive putdowns, a line the show has seemingly already crossed based on Twitter reactions to the third episode (“Three minutes in and the racism is killing me,” tweeted a writer for New York magazine).

It doesn’t help that the show’s network, CBS, insists on employing a laugh track, the television equivalent of hitting you on the head while saying, “This is really funny!” When the quality and kind of humor can be as divisive as this show’s, there is bound to be a large number saying back at the screen, “No it isn’t.”

‘New Girl’

On the flip side is “New Girl,” played by emo-boy crush object and Katy Perry’s twin sister Zooey Deschanel. The star of “500 Days of Summer” plays Jessica Day, a teacher who discovers her boyfriend has been cheating on her (yes, this show too). Forced to look for new lodging, she moves into a cushy apartment with three guys, who suddenly have to deal with having to live with an eccentric little ray of sunshine, which is what Day is when she’s not bawling her eyes out while watching “Dirty Dancing” for the umpteenth time.

Comedic roles aren’t known for being three-dimensional characters very often. Most sitcoms are content to paint their cast with broad brushstrokes, creating stereotypes or saddling characters with larger-than-life quirks, and that’s certainly the case here. Day bursts out into song (though to be fair, I have teacher friends who do this) at the drop of a hat, which is just one of her many weird mannerisms that are alternately charming and annoying.

One-note guys

Her roommates are similarly one-note. Played by a group of “oh hey it’s that guy from …” lesser known actors, there’s Nick who still has issues with his former girlfriend (and is destined to be Day’s love interest by episode five); Schmidt, who thinks he’s more handsome than he really is and has a “douchebag jar” that he needs to stick a dollar into every time he does something stupid; and Winston, who doesn’t do a lot in his first episode, replacing another character played by Damon Wayans Jr. in the pilot, whom the show needed to write out after Wayans Jr.’s old show was renewed at the last minute.

The most confusing aspect of this show is deciding whether or not these people on your screen are annoying or likable, albeit flawed human beings. The show doesn’t help at all, alternately showing them as people you want to hang out with, and then having someone do a head-desk inducing silly jig out of nowhere. The first two episodes also ended with “awww” moments that involved the guys sticking up for their new roommate—necessary scenes, no doubt, to show the progression of their acceptance of Jess Day, but one can see it becoming a recurring trope of the show.

Should that be the case, then the writers ought to spend more time coming up with better ways to highlight the cast’s relationships, instead of deciding which cheesy power ballad they want Deschanel to belt out per episode (Spoilers: “Time of My Life” from “Dirty Dancing” in episode one, and “Save the Best for Last” by Vanessa Williams in episode two).

Awkward people

This is a show for Deschanel fans, and for people who love watching people do awkward things. For everyone else, your tolerance levels may vary, which makes this a tough show to recommend. The late substitution of Winston for the Wayans Jr. character is a shame, because that role, Coach, was probably the funniest of the trio in the show’s first episode. Without him, the focus falls on Nick, who is the sort of fellow you’d describe to someone else as “simple,” for lack of a better, more positive adjective.

The show has its moments, but whether they’re enough to justify your viewing is another thing all together.

It used to be that television stars wanted to make the jump to the silver screen—see: Aniston, Jennifer. But Dennings and Deschanel have done the opposite here. Unfortunately, neither shows are immediate, must-watch material, the type that makes you yearn for another episode after finishing the latest one.

That said, there’s still plenty of room for growth, and the name power of both actresses will likely buy them the time to work out the kinks. Ultimately, which show to follow may just come down to the type of person you look for in a relationship. If your ideal partner is the nice, flowery, happy type of person, then go with Deschanel’s “New Girl.” If you like your mate with a little bite, a little give and take, hook up with Dennings’ “2 Broke Girls.”

Can a women’s’ magazine-esque personality quiz decide your viewing habits? In the case of these two shows, the answer is surprisingly, “yes.”