Friday Morning – Late Briefing: Earnings Mayhem and Trump's Empty Hat
Dispatches from The Last Sane Bastard in This Casino
9:56 AM EDT, July 18, 2025
Heavily Fortified Compound, Marco Island, FL
Lede: Earnings Overload and Trump’s Empty Hat
Oh, what a glorious mid-morning farce, you slack-jawed degenerates, where markets buzz like a hornet's nest poked with a stick—S&P 500 and Nasdaq hit fresh record highs yesterday, closing at 6,263.70 and 20,730.49, thanks to solid retail sales (+0.6% in June) and jobless claims dropping to 221,000 (CNBC, July 17), as if consumers aren’t drowning in debt. Dow’s up 0.52% to 44,484.49, riding tech optimism and PepsiCo’s 7% jump on earnings beats—because nothing says "economic health" like fizzy sugar water saving the day.
Asian markets rise on U.S. cues, like lemmings following a cliff-jumper. PPI was out at 8:30 AM EDT, expect a wild ride as inflation numbers land like a drunk uncle at a wedding. Earnings out the wazoo this week—banks, tech, the whole circus—and who the fuck knows what Trump will say next, his tariff threats looming like a bad fart in an elevator, investors shrugging and betting on negotiations. Bottom line, Orange Man is all hat and no cattle, a bloviating gasbag whose words spark rallies but deliver jack shit.
Alright then, enough of my inane drivel. Back to bidneth here:
BTC’s Whale Battle: Epic Wilderness Brawl
BTC spot at press time is getting on my last fucking nerve here. Still engaged in an epic battle, Shamu, Monstro, Moby Fucking Dick and who the hell knows how many other whales, who keep dumping with both hands every time we approach 120K.
To wit, yesterday at 5:15 PM, 9:30 PM, and this morning at 2:00 AM – all probed as high as $120,998.76 – and then was summarily dumped back to the low $118K dungeon. These bastards are determined, whoever the fuck they are…
We are currently bidding at $119,519.14 and about to ram our skulls into 120K again.
I had recalculated the expanded price octave, and my Flux Capacitor is spitting out my next upside target to be $127,528.38 – a diatonic target I am sticking to, for good or ill.
For today, based on the current 24-hour range, which is becoming a nasty hornet's nest, these are my $BTC intraday scalp price targets. Projected resistance levels – a damn good place to lock scalp profits. If you are a day trading degenerate like me and looking for action, target these levels:
• $120,138.92
• $120,712.14
• $120,998.78
• $121,571.98
We have found ourselves again in the Bitcoin wilderness, way out past where Jesus lost his sandals. So, if these resistance levels are taken out, I will have to reboot my Flux Capacitor and calibrate higher targets.
Friday’s Early Trending Stocks: Inane Bloviation
Stocks that are trending pre-market for whatever inane reason - we can offer some commentary on:
APLD at 11.59, Applied Blockchain’s crypto mining play dipping on energy cost fears—retail retards chasing shadows in a wilderness of watts.
GLXY at 28.50, Galaxy Digital’s crypto empire spiking on BTC buzz—jingo bastards riding the wave, but regulatory knives loom.
NFLX at 1241.29, Netflix’s streaming behemoth surging on subscriber growth—binge-watching zombies fuel the fire, a harsh corner of reality for cable cutters. And it is currently getting a buzz cut -52.94 *GACK*
ACHR at 12.92, Archer Aviation’s eVTOL hype flying high—degenerate dreams of flying taxis in a tariff storm.
SPY at 628.94, the broad market's yawn amid earnings mayhem—panders shrug at Trump’s empty hat.
Important Resources for You, Magnificent Bastards
Henrik Zeberg’s Final Warning: If you’re trading without this, you’re flying blind into a shitstorm. Read it. Now.
The Mother of All Crashes: My magnum opus on why the market’s a house of cards waiting for a sneeze. Dive in here.
Precision Levels SPX: For SPX, SPY, and ES degenerates, this Substack’s a crystal ball. 29 years in this casino, and I’ve never seen projections this surgical. Check it out.
Caffeinated Capital: Hilarious, topical, salient daily commentary - where you will learn something with every read.
I invite you to follow my intraday inane drivel and sporadic brain-droppings at My Fucking Notes—brief, in-your-face gonzo blasts that'll slap your skull awake and leave you reeling for more, pikers!
Explore my Fear and Loathing vast archives when you got nothing better to do. There is many a fantastic screed in there for you to wrap what is left of your brains around…
I am KingCAMBO, smoke 'em if you got 'em and that's how I ROLL on this Friday morning late 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.