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Sunday Picayune, n.d. The mince pie joke ostensibly plays off this closing speech by Prospero in The Tempest:

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d tow’rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

The hairpin gag eludes me entirely.

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2 Comments

  1. Perhaps the hairpin gag has something to do with the “part” in someone’s hair?

    And having made my own mince pie this Thanksgiving, I have to say I deeply – one might say, gastrointestinally – understand the quite substantial fabric of that delicacy.

    • Perhaps the hairpin gag has something to do with the “part” in someone’s hair?
      Ah, I think you may have solved the riddle. Thanks.

      And having made my own mince pie this Thanksgiving, I have to say I deeply – one might say, gastrointestinally – understand the quite substantial fabric of that delicacy.

      You did the whole megillah, with the beef and the suet and all?


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