This blog post was hacked. I can’t get quite back to the original version, but I’m going to try to put up a close approximation.Sad that some of the original content is missing, but here is a plaintext approximation:

Ok, so I’m about to finally mail in my ballot. (That’s how we do things in the State of Oregon, remember?)

It’s obvious who the best presidential candidate is, and in fact I did some phone banking for her on Saturday morning — which happened to be my birthday — November 2nd.

People need to be aware that actual Trump voters live nearby me. Here in Lincoln City, Oregon.

Such people also live in Cheshire, Connecticut. Where my parents are. These are Blue states, mind you. Or they were, last I checked.

There’s a huge pickup truck that’s been parked less than a block away from my apartment all week long. It has a sign on it that says, “God, Guns, and Trump.”

Now that is making a statement.

A statement that in fact, is almost meaningless for someone such as yours truly, who cannot legally own a gun. But strangely, I am an actual living person who still makes the not entirely symbolic effort to vote, every now and then.

When I was back in Connecticut the previous fall, before Kamala Harris had even been chosen as the Democratic nominee, I saw a house with a Trump banner covering most of the second story. It was just down the road from Town Hall.

It appeared to be a residential single family home. I did not go inside.

I just observed it quickly. Driving by.

Seems like people like this don’t care much what their neighbors think.