Cliff: All right, losers. Let's count the hair on our chinny-chin-chins.
Carla: Come off it, Clavin. If you expect us to believe you grew that phony beard overnight, you're as stupid as you look.
Cliff: No chance of that, Carla. No, this righteous facial moss is pure Clavin.
Carla: Yeah, baloney! [pulls Cliff's beard]
Cliff: Ah!
Carla: This thing is really on there.
Cliff: Hey, all right. Knock it off! Come on, guys, I told you. I told you Clavin hair grows in spurts. It runs in the family. As a matter of fact, Grandpa Clavin... He used to let us hang from his beard. No, wait a second. Grandpa Clavin died when I was 6. Who was that guy?