Fear and Loathing in the Pre-Market Slaughterhouse: June 18, 2025
Dispatches from The Last Sane Bastard in This Casino
It’s 6:09 AM from the fortified compound, you rabid sons of the trading pit, and the September futures are wound so tight it’s a goddamn game of mumbly peg—watch your feet, you silly bastards! Today’s the day to roll those June futures into September, or you’ll be left holding worthless paper by nightfall, weeping in the gutter! Here’s the grim tally: Dow (YM) +64, SPX (ES) +14.25, NDX (NQ) +73.75, and that hideous $VIX is lurking at 20.80, a predator sniffing blood. Brace yourselves!
Expect a morning of shit trading ranges, a festering swamp of boredom—maybe a gap-and-trap mirage that fizzles by the Europe close, followed by razor-thin ranges and stop-loss raids until 2 PM, when Wapner delivers his fabulous rates non-decision. Then, at 2:30 PM, Powell hijacks the airwaves to sneer, “You get nothing!” before blathering for an hour in Fed-speak drivel so incomprehensible even he might not get it. Bottom line? A steaming pile of bullshiit! The Federal Reserve—about as “Federal” as Federal Express. Ever heard that one? FUCK THE FED! Chew on that manifesto!
BTC’s gasping at $104,551.44 as I carve this screed, trapped in the narrow, choppy hell of the 104K–105K resistance prison. Intraday targets? Hold tight: my “short-termish” upside’s $116,313.22, downside $98,504.80. Hungry for my 2025 BTC prophecies? Devour Beavis, Butthead, and Bitcoin: A Gonzo Ride to $236,887 or Bust—a lunatic sprint through the crypto jungle! Daily from this Fear and Loathing fortress: today’s BTC resistance levels, based on overnight carnage—
$104,898.97
$105,337.73
$105,776.49
$105,995.97
$106,434.63.
Breach those, and I’ll fire up the Flux Capacitor for higher stakes!
Stocks?
CRWD at 492.03 struts like a bloated warlord
CERO at19.83 teeters on the edge
PTON at 6.12 is a punch-drunk has-been
TSLA at 316.35—fucking TSLA—dances on a volcano!
Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em—if you survive today’s boredom turning to chaos without Fireball or shady sundries, send a postcard. Or join my $5/month paid service, you magnificent bastards!
I invite you to follow my pre-market rants and brain-dumping madness on My Fucking Notes —raw, ruthless, and a fist to your face, you pikers!
High rollers, snag a 7-day free trial and ride this beast!
I am KingCAMBO, smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em, and that’s how I ROLL on Pre Market Briefing!
King Cambo’s Fear and Loathing “Legal” Disclaimer: Alright, buckle up, you madcap truth-seekers, ‘cause I’m about to sling this disclaimer straight from the edge of a neon-drenched abyss, for you magnificent bastards, with a belly full of cheap whiskey and a mind like a chrome-plated slot machine spitting sparks. This ain’t no polite suggestion to buy or sell stocks, securities, or any of that Wall Street bullshit—it’s just my raw, unfiltered brain-droppings, spewed out like a busted fire hydrant. I’m a walking financial disaster, hemorrhaging cash on trades and investments like a gambler on a three-day bender. I might snatch up any stock I yap about here or dump it faster than a getaway car at a bank heist, and I won’t send you a postcard about it. This ain’t a pitch to buy or sell jack shit! I might own the names I’m ranting about, or I might not—could be bullish and empty-handed, bearish with a fistful of shares. Hell, assume I’m playing the exact opposite game you think, just to keep you on your toes. If I’m long, I could flip short before the ink dries; if I’m short, I might go long by lunch. No updates, no apologies—my positions shift like desert sands in a sandstorm. You’re out here in the wilds, solo, so don’t you dare lean on my blog for your big money moves. I’m a fringe-dweller, howling at the moon, and the publisher ain’t vouching for the half-cocked “facts” I sling. These ain’t the opinions of my bosses, buddies, or anyone else dumb enough to know me. I do my damndest to keep my disclosures straight, but I’m scribbling this after a few beers, maybe a shot of mezcal, so don’t bet your ranch on my accuracy. I tweak my posts after they’re live ‘cause I’m an impatient bastard, too lazy to proofread. Spot a typo? Come back in 30 minutes, it might be gone—or worse. And let’s get one thing crystal: I fuck up. “I fuck up a lot.” I’m saying it twice ‘cause it’s the only gospel I’ve got. Now go, you beautiful lunatics, and don’t blame me when the market chews you up and spits you out.