Pre-Market Briefing: Bats and Bombs, June 13, 2025, 7:16 AM EDT Fortified Compound
Dispatches from The Last Sane Bastard in This Casino
Strap in, you miserable degenerates—KingCAMBO’s unleashing a hideous, vengeful screed from the fortified depths at 7:16 AM! As foretold in last night’s wrap, the hopium’s evaporated, and the bats are circling like harpies over a carcass. And what’s really pissing me off—they’ve been beating Bitcoin like a rented mule for 24 straight hours, relentless as a pissed-off pitbull. More on that shitshow below… The June futures are a goddamn train wreck: Dow (YM) -488, S&P (ES) -68.25, Nasdaq (NQ) -305, and the VIX has rocketed to a screaming 20.67 overnight. Call the fucking authorities—this is chaos incarnate!
If there’s one thing I hate more than politics, it’s geo-fucking-politics, but here we are with Israel and Iran playing whack-a-mole—dropping bombs, launching drones, lighting firecrackers, and screeching “You hit me, I hit you!” Why can’t these degenerate fucktards calm down, trade some Bitcoin, and STFU? All we need now is the Orange Menace to lob a tweet missile and escalate this circus. And if that ain’t enough, the econ crap’s still splattering the tape today. Buckle up, you bastards!
Bitcoin’s Brutal Beating
BTC spot is printing $104,931.75 right now, clawing back from an overnight low of $102,746.01—for fucks sake, give it a break! It’s still in bull compression per my dope, but this beating’s testing its spine. My “short-termish” targets hold:
Upside target: $116,313.22
Downside risk: $98,504.80**
Want the full gonzo scoop on my 2025 BTC prophecies? Rip into Beavis, Butthead, and Bitcoin: A Gonzo Ride to $236,887 or Bust—a wild-ass trek through the crypto jungle. New feature at the Fear and Loathing fortress: intraday BTC targets! Today’s resistance levels, based on overnight ranges:
• $106,088.63
• $107,043.66
• $107,998.69
• $108,476.21
Smash through those, and I’ll reboot my Flux Capacitor for higher targets. Will it rise or crash? Stock up on barf bags, you crypto clowns!
Stocks: The Pre-Market Bloodbath
Let’s shred these tickers, you bloodthirsty hyenas:
SPY at $597.25—broad market reeling, down from yesterday’s high.
QQQ at $485.10—tech tanking hard.
Created with TradingView DIA at $398.75—Dow dogs dragging the chain.
Created with TradingView CL-F (Crude Oil Futures) at $78.45—oil jittery with geopolitics. **Chart’s down today
OXY at $62.30 (per the finance card above)—Occidental sliding with the energy slump.
These are your war zones—trade ‘em if you’ve got the balls!
Market Movers: Panic and Puke
This pre-market’s a shitstorm—futures are cratering, the VIX is screaming, and geo-political bombs (Israel-Iran) are raining down. Add US Jobs Data (Non-Farm Payrolls, Unemployment Rate, Average Hourly Earnings) dropping today, and it’s a recipe for disaster. Survive this without Fireball whisky and questionable sundries, and you’re a goddamn warrior!
Engage, You Gutless Pikers!
Crave my unhinged rants? Follow my intraday inane drivel and sporadic brain droppings on My Fucking Notes—short, savage, and smacking you harder than this batshit tape, you spineless bastards! Hit that follow button and join the fray!
Join the High Rollers, You Cheap Skulls!
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Final Word
This pre-market’s a shitstorm of bats and bombs—survive the geo-political and macro meat grinder, or chug that Fireball.
I am KingCAMBO, smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em, and that’s how I ROLL on this pre-market insanity!
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.