Post-Market Wrap: July 2, 25, 9:26 PM EDT
Heavily Fortified Compound, Marco Island, Florida
These midnight mumblings will rot in the archives by the time this compendium of stale bullshit gets edited and flung onto the Substack mojo wire—Christ, what a boring ass market, limping into the last day before a long holiday weekend of debauchery, where we’ll wake up Monday to God-knows-what carnage! These short summer weeks are historically a bullish shitstorm, so don’t be shocked if tomorrow’s short squeeze rips your scrotum off going into the BIG, beautiful holiday—or not, hell, I’m no prophet, just a drunk with a keyboard! For now, I’m stuck watching an interminably long LA Dodgers game, praying my massive FanDuel account doesn’t liquidate by dawn—send help!
Market Mayhem
Today’s final prints:
Dow -10.50
SPX +29.26
NDX +162.99
VIX back in its pipe dream at 16.66, playing the third act in this cruel drama of delusion—bulls and bears humping in a financial orgy!
BTC Moonshot or Bust
$BTC spot’s bid at $109,069.25 in after-hours, finally making a half-assed college try to launch moon-bound from this prolonged compression band we’ve been shackled to for weeks. My buddy at Caffeinated Capital dropped a killer piece, The Market: Bitcoin's Billion-Dollar Belly Flop, devour it now!
My targets stand—upside $116,313.22, downside $98,504.80, probed June 22nd and held—so, bottom in? Safe to crawl out? When’s my $SHIB jackpot? Dig into Beavis, Butthead, and Bitcoin: A Gonzo Ride to $236,887 or Bust for the crypto jungle prophecy.
Stock Slaughterhouse
Mojo du jour:
$GS at 715.89, new high on Fed test buzz
$MARA at 17.80 up +13.38% on mining hype
$UNF at 171.07 down -10.16% on weak earnings
$DDOG at 135.01 up +2.03%—a volatile circus of greed and despair!
Required Reading for You Slack-Jawed Pikers
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.
Join the Madness
With 179 free pikers and counting, dive into My Fucking Notes for my unhinged intraday rants and brain-frying droppings—short, savage, and smacking you upside the head, you rowdy bastards!
I am KingCAMBO, smoke 'em if ya got 'em, and that’s how I ROLL on this post-market travesty.
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.