Post Traumatic Texts

By Chad Coffey and Courtney Coffey

“It was the best of texts, it was the worst of texts ...”

From accidentally propositioning a friend’s mom for a ball massage to finding a booger in a cup of coffee, Post Traumatic Texts offers a variety of hilarious anecdotes between siblings, Chad and Courtney. Bear witness to their crazy digital correspondence, insults, and major life faux pas in this laugh-out-loud collection.

*This book was previously published as We're Not Write by Cass Alexander and C.C. Edwards. It has been edited and modified and released under different monikers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chad Coffey
• Release date: Apr 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005882815

Chad Coffey

Southern born, Southern raised, new to the author world.Oh, and brother to an annoying sister with whom I've written a book.

Book preview

Post Traumatic Texts

A Sordid Collection

By Chad Coffey and Courtney Coffey

*Previously published as We’re Not Write

By Cass Alexander and CC. Edwards

PUBLISHED BY:

Chad Coffey & Courtney Coffey

Post Traumatic Texts

A Sordid Collection

Copyright © 2022 by Chad Coffey & Courtney Coffey

*Previously published as We’re Not Write

By Cass Alexander and CC. Edwards

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book contains mature content and is intended for adult readers.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

We would like to thank our family for helping us hone our coping mechanism of laughing at everything that makes us angry, sad, scared, uncomfortable, happy, confused—you get the picture. Through our familial interactions, we were able to master the art of a well-timed one-liner at a very early age. Okay, maybe master is a stretch and makes us sound conceited, but we sure had a lot of practice.

We would especially like to thank our parents for loving us enough to forego a lawsuit over what we’ve written in this book. We hope you aren’t too disappointed in us. In general terms, that is. Not because of this book. This book is for sure disappointing to you. We suggest, Mom and Dad, that you stay away from our podcast, as well, if we ever get it going.

Table of Contents

Chad’s Brologue

Courtney’s Preface

Chapter 1: Why, Yes, I Did Ask Your Mom for a Ball Massage

Chapter 2: Welcome Home, Dad Thinks You’re Gay

Chapter 3: The Prince of Darkness

Chapter 4: Death is Funny, and You Can, Too!

Chapter 5: Think of the Children

Chapter 6: Little Miss Clots-a-Lot

Chapter 7: Foodies

Chapter 8: Nice is My Middle Name

Chapter 9: Call Me When You Have No Class

Chapter 10: Pen Names Are Like Condoms

Chapter 11: Because I Can

Chapter 12: Shark Soup

Chapter 13: Random in Tandem

The End

A Note from the Authors

You two, get away from me.

~Our Dad

CHAD’S BROLOGUE

Brologue. That’s clever, Bro. Rhymes with prologue, even though it’s probably a preface or a foreword. But what do I know? A lot. The answer is a lot. It wasn’t rhetorical, Chad.

~Courtney

What good fortune it is to have been dealt a hand that includes a sibling who could not possibly be more the opposite of oneself, yet the gears in your heads operate in precisely the same manner.

Growing up, I spent my days and nights being washed in the blood of our more Southern, rural roots—drinking bourbon, embracing daily boot-wear, punching faces and being punched in my own face, racing my shitty pick-up truck against other shitty pick-up trucks, etc.

Courtney spent hers as an aggressive scholar looking to get what we call the fuck out of Kentucky. I embraced my redneck roots. She embraced knowledge and changing her place in this world for the better.

I am fairly conservative. Sister is pretty liberal.

She lives in Indiana. I am as Kentucky as they come.

Her blood clots. Mine flows freely through my veins.

I am right. She is wrong.

My point is, simply, we are starkly opposite on the surface—but we shared a great and sometimes terrible childhood that caused our minds to be slightly warped in precisely the same way.

I can be in a virtual stadium full of humans, and at least a half a dozen times we will make eye contact and laugh at the same person without having any need of saying what we are laughing at.

Are you stupid? Then we are probably laughing at you right now. We are, at core, the same. This makes it so we can discuss things like politics and not get angry with each other.

Sure, we often have to just let the conversation die awkwardly and agree to disagree. Which is fine, as I respect her more than anyone and I value her opinion. Disagreeing with her is a chance for me to hear a more educated opinion than my own.

It’s a chance to learn a different way of seeing things. A chance to hear that over-educated bitch spout leftist nonsense. The world needs us!

Somewhere around late adolescence we recognized in one another a kindred spirit who, through a shared maze of genetic make-up that could be described as a hillbilly bipolar double helix, took on any hardship that life could throw at us with laughter.

There exists between us a shared love of the inappropriate, which she has passed on to her hell-born children and I have passed on to the two evil shits I call my own. These poor little bastards never had a chance—just like us. And we love it because we all laugh together. Often, at the expense of those we love.

Does that make us bad people? No. The complete lack of respect and remorse does.

So, we are telling our digital story and hoping someone will love our stupidity and give us lots of money so that we can purchase on eBay Jennifer Grey’s original face and then take turns wearing it and killing people with a small sword. Possibly some small animals, as well. Nobody puts Baby’s face in a corner. Except Courtney.

I don’t know if we will have the time for death-play, however, as we will likely be busy fending off lawsuits filed by relatives who know a portion of this work is absolutely about them.

There exists no ill intent here, but it’s like our mom used to say—don’t blame Chad. Blame that rotten whore of a sister God dealt him.

COURTNEY’S PREFACE

Cowboy Kids, circa 1980

Sibling. Your first best friend. Your first enemy. Your first chance to practice comebacks before taking them to market, to places like the playground, parties, jail, etc.

Your sibling is the first person to celebrate your successes and to commiserate in your failures. Well, sometimes they celebrate your failures but that’s just part of the deal. It teaches you a lot about frustration—and how to throw a punch.

Your sibling often becomes the first target for that frustration—or that punch. Also, sometimes, the first target for your new softball bat. It happens. Well, in our family it happens.

My mother says that