"I got seven mack-11s, about eight .38s..."

Ladies and gentleman. Let it be known: I am alive and well.

Despite my failure to post for exactly one week, I have not yet succumbed to the forces of darkness. My mind has merely been infected by ghosts. But fear not. Christmas cheer is just around the corner.

Today, the NY Times extols the virtues of the .38, a weapon that a guy like me can relate to. (Who said they were pansies over there?) If I knew the first thing about shooting guns, or had even the most remote need for one, it would surely be a six-shooter bulging off my right ankle.

Meanwhile, my previous post has proven to be nothing but a load of poppycock: D.C. most likely will not get a professional baseball team, at least not for more than one season. It seems that the Lilly-livers over at the city council were sufficiently intimidated by the "No taxes for D.C. baseball" poster campaign and decided to demand that much of the stadium be privately financed. Assholes. We all know that public financing does little besides enrich a team's owners, but I also know that I'll be mighty upset if I'm not munching a pretzel at Marion Barry Field in August of 2006. So much for optimism.

There is plenty of other news out there this week, sports-related and otherwise. As luck would have it, I've become rather busy. Before I go, however, here's a spicy tidbit to tide you over. Word has it that Halfzie has taken up a position over in Tommy Thompson's office, and he's not leaving until Tommy does. You heard it here first--Beltway gossip from a Washington outsider.