Pre-Market Briefing: Butterflies, Rainbows, and Bullshit, June 16, 2025, 6:21 AM EDT Fortified Compound
Dispatches from The Last Sane Bastard in This Casino
Well, strap in, you deranged pikers—it’s 6:21 AM at the fortified compound, and surprise, it’s all butterflies and fucking rainbows! The skies are blue, the sun’s shining, and everything’s green again—puke-worthy, right? Bitcoin finally busted out of that 105K resistance trap like a caged beast, printing $106,816.50 as I hammer this hideous screed. More on that glorious breakout below… And word on the street? Bullwinkle’s getting discharged from the nervous hospital today, ready to puff some hopium bong hits and stumble back into this circus. Hallelujah!
Let’s glance at the June e-mini futures: Dow (YM) +167, S&P (ES) +27.50, Nasdaq (NQ) +115.75, and the VIX still circling 20.10 like a vulture—yeah, it’s all good, you optimistic fools! But hold your goddamn horses… Israel and Iran are still playing whack-a-mole, and it’s escalating faster than a Reddit mob. We’ve got VIX expiry and SPX major expiry looming, that impotent Federal Reserve set to announce jack shit at 2 PM Wednesday, and a pile of macro crap festering into Friday. The Fed? About as “Federal” as Federal Express—have I said this before? FUCK THE FED!
And don’t get me started on the Orange Menace’s $45 million “Dear Leader” birthday parade—a colossal flop and a farce that flopped harder than a drunk clown. Expect some sullen, toddler-tantrum tweet storms this week, likely when Jerome Powell starts bloviating post-Fed announcement. So, there’s that then…
Now, about that Bitcoin breakout… It’s been shackled to the 104K-105K corpse since last Friday, and now it’s roaring at $106,816.50. My “short-termish” targets still stand: upside at $116,313.22 and downside at $98,504.80. Craving the full gonzo dive into my 2025 BTC prophecies? Rip into Beavis, Butthead, and Bitcoin: A Gonzo Ride to $236,887 or Bust—a wild, brain-scrambling trek through the crypto jungle, you masochistic bastards!
New at the Fear and Loathing Trading Fortress: I’m dropping intraday BTC targets every morning. Based on overnight ranges, here’s today’s resistance levels to watch: overnight ranges, here’s today’s resistance levels to watch:
$107,765.81
$108,231.64
$108,464.55
$108,930.37
$109,396.20
If these get obliterated, I’ll reboot my Flux Capacitor and crank up the targets—brace yourselves!
Stocks: The Morning Meat Market
Let’s eyeball the carnage, you bloodthirsty hyenas:
NVDA—tech titan teetering on a tightrope.
TSLA—Elon’s electric dream dodging bullets.
ACHR—air taxi hopes hovering on fumes.
LCID—Lucid’s luxury lie limping along.
F—Ford’s fossils fumbling forward.
This post is public so feel free to share it; you magnificent bastards!
So, thar she blows… Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em, and if you survive this week’s chaos and insanity without chugging questionable sundries or Fireball whisky, send me a goddamn postcard. Or better yet, upgrade to my paid service for $5 a month, you magnificent bastards—rule the madness at kingcambo812.substack.com with a 7-day free trial for the high-rolling elite!
Engage, You Gutless Pikers!
Crave my unhinged rants? Dive into my intraday inane drivel and sporadic brain droppings on My Fucking Notes —short, savage, and slapping you in the face harder than this market’s mood swings, you spineless wonders! Follow or howl back!
Final Word
This pre-market briefing is a twisted rainbow of hope and havoc.
I am KingCAMBO, smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em, and that’s how I ROLL on this 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.