Keith McCoy - Cumberland Mountain Realty A real estate agent that is equal to a used car salesman Monterey Tennessee

Keith McCoy’s slogan, “Good Ole Fashioned Service,” isn’t a tagline—it’s a cleverly disguised disclaimer. If bending the truth and employing creative misrepresentations were Olympic events, he’d be Monterey’s undisputed gold medalist. If your dream home involves shattered expectations served with a hearty side of regret, look no further—Keith McCoy is your man.

Keith delivers a cosmic sales pitch; he promises you the moon, then hands you a money pit. Snake oil? He’s got barrels of it, along with an unmatched talent for securing his full agent fee while leaving you stuck with a house that could double as a cautionary tale. And privacy? Forget it. You’ll soon find your “dream home” uncomfortably cozy with an unexpected neighbor’s construction site right where your peace and quiet used to be. To add insult to injury, from your front porch, you can admire the architectural “creativity” of your neighborhood, where every “custom” home is so unique, they all look exactly alike.

Mr. McCoy will sell you a punch-list inspection as the ultimate safeguard for your brand-new home, swearing up and down that the builder is a perfectionist who will fix every issue with precision and pride. Meanwhile, during the inspection itself, Keith transforms into your overly attentive shadow, conveniently blocking your view of every red flag and fast-forwarding you through the process like it’s a race. By the end, you’ll wonder if you inspected the house or if the house inspected you.

Keith McCoy's post-inspection promises are as comforting as a parachute made of tissue paper—fleetingly reassuring until the inevitable crash. Assurances that every issue will be expertly resolved before closing go unfulfilled. Instead of repairs, you’re gifted a collection of half-baked patch jobs that somehow manage to be more tragic than the original flaws.

By the time closing day arrives, Keith pulls a disappearing act so impressive it could make a magician jealous. He vanishes, thousands of dollars richer, leaving behind only the faint echo of unkept promises. Reaching him afterward? About as likely as a one-legged chicken winning a hopscotch tournament.

If you find yourself lulled by Keith’s siren song, RESIST! This isn’t the kind of gamble where you lose a few coins; it’s a front-row ticket to a tragic comedy of errors featuring decks that aren’t anchored to footers, doors with the personality of moody teenagers (some refusing to stay open while others won’t close), tiles that look like they were installed in the dark by a blind man—possibly wearing mittens after a few spins—and walls so off-kilter they could moonlight as abstract art. The concealed water heater exhaust pipe plumbed into the crawlspace doubles as a waterfall, creating a lake under the house; the improperly sealed HVAC system moonlights as a rodent autobahn; and the home’s masterpiece of cheap flat wall paint highlights every smudge while peeling off like a bad sunburn when you try to clean it. Electrical outlets? They add an extra spark of excitement—especially when you turn on the vacuum. Honestly, how this house passed inspection is a mystery better left to the imagination. Perhaps it was a truly optimistic inspector with rose-tinted glasses and a blindfold? Or maybe they had a strict policy: if the house doesn’t burst into flames during the inspection, it’s a pass. It’s an enigma that adds a sprinkle of danger to an already questionable purchase. So, unless you have a deep-seated desire to star in a DIY disaster documentary, lace up and escape before you find yourself knee-deep in regret and repairs.

Think this house was a fluke? Hardly. Fellow homeowners saddled with a Chris Phillips/Keith McCoy masterpiece sing the same tune. It’s practically a support group at this point—bonding over incorrectly constructed decks that threaten to collapse in a windstorm, doors that defy the laws of physics, cheap paint, incorrectly installed flooring and tiles that appear to be the result of a late-night game of “pin the grout on the floor.”

So, if you're dreaming of a home that serves as a sturdy refuge, beware: these homes are far from the Real McCoy. Instead, they’re like shady knockoffs scored in a back alley—shiny at first glance but ultimately leaving you with nothing but remorse, a never-ending to-do list, an echoing bank account, and perpetual Google searches for “how to fix everything.” Don’t let yourself be swayed by the slick sales pitch. In the end, a true home should feel like a sanctuary—not the punchline of a realtor-and-contractor comedy duo’s bad joke.