These characters belong to Jerry Sienfeld, Although I think they also exist in real life.
"...But I'm not bald." George was saying in his whiney voice. "Not yet. I'm bald-ing. Not bald. Bald-Ing."
"You know I think it's worse to be balding then it is to be bald." Jerry told him. "Cause at least if you're bald, you can pass it off, saying dat you shaved your head."
"He's right." said Elain. "Women see a bald man and think 'Oh, he might be bald by choice. He could have a full head of hair, but he just chooses not to."
"Yeah." Jerry said. "And it's even worse if you have a comb-over, because then your balding, but pretending that your not! It's false advertising."
"So I should just shave my head, is that it?" George said in his much too loud voice.
"Look, George, it's all about genetics." Elain said. "No woman wants to have children who could go bald at thirty."
"What does children have to do with this?" George asked. "I just wanna date!"
"It's all subconsious." Jerry explained, and Elain nodded. "It's da same reason we chase after women with wide, child bearing hips."
George was about to say something about Jerry sounding like a Nazi when Kramer burst into the room, without warning and completely uninvited as he was apt to do, except this time a flurry of snowflakes and a chilled wind followed him in before he could shut the door. This was very pecular, for two reasons. First of all, it was the middle of summer. Secondly, Jerry live in an apartement high above the street. Outside his door was a hallway. If Kramer were to walk through a door and have snow blow in past him, then it would be through the revolving door in the lobby, not Jerry's apartement door.
"Hey guys, crazy weather we're having, huh?" Kramer said as he helped himself to the contents of Jerry's fridge without permission. Elain looked out the window, and sure enough, the weather outside was quite odd. The streets of New York below were completely flooded with molten lava, burning cars sinking into the superheated stone.
"Aww dammit." Elain said. "How am I going to get to work?"
"Can we please concentrate on my midlife crisis?" George asked, always trying to get the attention.
It was then that Ri'Krnar spoke up, the slimey mass of withering tentacles who sat on the far recliner chair oposite Jerry. Although his kind did not grow hair, they did have a sort of mold that grew on their skin. They found it attractive, since the mold meant that they were healthy. Ri'krnar had once had a distrubing lack of mold all over his body, due to spending too much time outisde his native reality, and it was the Eon that his people chose to mate during! In his distress, he had tried covering himself with a different fungus, but it did not fool his potential mates. Even the ones were were lacking in mold yet had the honesty to walk without it were able to pass on their genes, yet he could not.
So, in the end, his advice to George was not to get a combover, but simply be himself. Then Ri'Krnar somewhat contradicted himself by telling George to shave his head, but his original message still stood.
"Hey Jerry, do you have any pickles?" Kramer asked as he ate a slice of pizza that he had brought with him from his own apartement. "This pizza is a little plain."
"The jar is on the fridge door." Jerry said, exasperated.