Smaller Guns, Plastic Keys

Rejected Post headline — “It’s Not The Size, It’s What You Do With It”:

City cops are on the alert for the SwissMiniGun — a 2.16-inch replica of a Colt Python capable of shooting bullets that are just one-third of an inch long.

The six-shot revolver — which sells for about $500 and can literally fit in the palm of a hand — is capable of causing serious damage, authorities say.

The guns cannot be imported legally, but smuggling is a concern, officials said.

Cops are also watching out for plastic handcuff keys that are approximately the size of a nickel.

The keys cannot be picked up by metal detectors and look like a pendant when worn on a chain.

The NYPD last Saturday warned the city’s 36,000 officers to “use extreme vigilance” when searching, guarding and transporting prisoners.

Williamsburg, Brooklyn Or Williamsburg, Virginia?

An evangelical group targets rootless Brooklyn hipsters:

While Greenpoint hipsters sip lattes and leaf through the Sunday papers at Café Grumpy on Meserole Ave., a fervent group of young neighborhood churchgoers prays behind them.

“I am evil, born in sin,” chant worshipers in the newly established Williamsburg Church.

Since July, a congregation of 15 has been gathering on Sunday nights in a nook in the back of the cafe, an area that operates as an art gallery the rest of the week.

“A church isn’t a building, it’s a people,” said pastor Robert Elkin, who moved to Brooklyn six months ago to open the church.

Elkin is a member of the Heritage Bible Church, a 1,400-person evangelical group based in Greer, S.C. The born-again missionaries hope to open churches across the country, particularly in areas where religion isn’t at the top of people’s to-do lists.

“It’s a ripe environment, but it’s a challenge,” said Elkin, who sees “hedonism” in Williamsburg and Greenpoint’s youth culture.

The group’s target audience is hip, young New Yorkers who have ignored God for too long — and have been overlooked by God’s messengers.

. . .

Café Grumpy owner Caroline Bell didn’t want to talk about her new tenant. “Anybody who wants to rent out the back can,” she said.

And You Never Hear A Peep From The Neighbors

One thing should be for sure — God willing, you won’t be complaining to the community board about your noisy neighbors:

New Yorkers with a zest for life — and $1 million to spend — are dying to move into a luxury condo building with a killer view of Green-Wood Cemetery and its 560,000 permanent residents.

About a third of the condos at the ritzy “Simone” in Windsor Terrace overlook the cemetery and some of its famous graves — artist Jean-Michel Basquiat, editor Horace Greeley and political titan William (Boss) Tweed.

“A lot of people haven’t said anything about the cemetery,” said Corcoran sales associate Andrew Booth. “Or they say they like it because they know nothing will ever be built on it.”

Booth said 19 of the building’s 35 condos are in contract — at prices ranging from $275,000 to $999,000 — and buyers can expect to move in by early next year.

. . .

Brooklyn residents yesterday seemed to envy their new neighbors’ graveyard views, but some were deadly serious about the once-blue collar area’s skyrocketing housing prices.

“I can’t see paying that much anywhere, never mind next to a cemetery,” said Lang Price, 54, an attorney who lives nearby.

“But that’s what the market has done to real estate in this city. People will pay anything to live anywhere.”

Location Scout: Green-Wood Cemetery.

Brave New Fur

The Manhattan Cat, whose entire existence is informed by dank, cramped apartments they never leave, gets much, much freakier:

Josh is a $4,000 cat, bred to keep from setting off allergic reactions like sniffles, teary eyes and hives in people like me — who until now could never have a meaningful relationship with a feline.

The 3-year-old male was bred by a company called Allerca, which set up our meeting yesterday at the W Hotel.

After hiding under the bed, then behind a pillow, he let me cradle him in my arms.

I waited and . . . nothing. No sneezing. No tears.

. . .

The special cats won’t be available to the general public until early next year. Already, there’s a long waiting list. New Yorkers are actually paying an extra $2,000 to be bumped to the front of the line.

Allerca developed the pets by selectively breeding cats that had a “changed” glycoprotein, the genetic property that triggers an allergy, said Bernadine Cruz, Josh’s vet. One in 50,000 cats has this altered protein.

“Joshua is second generation and there’s many more to come,” Cruz said, adding that he’s the result of three years of research.

Just say no to genetically modified cats!

Manhattan’s Celebrity Cemetery

Père Lachaise, Hollywood Forever and . . . a tree planter on East 67th Street:

For the past six years, Transit Authority dispatcher Vinnie Lepani has been marking the passing of the famous and infamous with miniature headstones fashioned from tongue depressors in a smidgen of soil within a tree planter.

The makeshift cemetery has become an attraction in the upper East Side neighborhood. Tourists stop to take photos and neighborhood hospital workers occasionally add their favorite dearly departed to the display.

“We try to keep it as current as possible — depending on the weather,” Lepani said in a thick Brooklyn accent as he penciled movie star Glenn Ford’s name on a stick last week. “It makes conversation, and conversation is what makes me go.”

Lepani started the cemetery as a lark, with a trio of tombstones for three rock ‘n’ roll stars who died in a 1959 plane crash, Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and the Big Bopper.

The next day he noticed that someone had added a fourth marker — he can’t remember the name — so he answered with Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin. It grew from there, and now includes anyone Lepani considers boldface material.

Comedian Red Buttons, civil rights pioneer Coretta Scott King, talk-show host Mike Douglas, actor Pat Morita and musician Billy Preston are some of the recent additions.

“Tupac is in there. We don’t discriminate,” he said. “We had a big one for the King, Elvis Presley, but it’s gone. People steal them.”

. . .

Lepani has only one rule for the graveyard — anyone who wants to get in it better be famous.

Sometimes, the relatives of patients who died at Sloan-Kettering or New York Presbyterian Hospital Weill Cornell across the street ask to commemorate their loved ones. But unless they are marquee names, Lepani usually lets them down gently.