Pre-Market Briefing: July 2, 2025, 5:18 AM EDT
Dispatches from The Last Sane Bastard in This Casino
Heavily Fortified Compound, Marco Island
The sun’s still hiding, but I’m a goddamn titan of industry, too busy to sleep—fuck it, I’ll nap when I’m dead! What in sweating Jesus awaits us today in this circus of chaos? It’s a shortened week, perfect for guzzling whiskey and lobbing cherry bombs, firecrackers, and hell, a Molotov or two at the neighbor’s mailbox—plausible deniability’s my shield, you pikers!
Economic Carnage
Wednesday, July 2: Jobs Appetizer and Tesla Tease—ADP Employment Report (June) drops at 8:15 a.m., a measly 102.5K whisper versus May’s 37K, a weak print that could spook this madhouse before Thursday’s main event. Factory Orders (May) and ISM Services PMI (June) hit too—will services keep propping up this golden goose or just lay a golden turd?
Earnings Bloodbath
Earnings trickle in with UniFirst (UNF), Radius Recycling (RDUS), and Franklin Covey (FC), but the real carnage is Tesla (TSLA) June Deliveries, expected Wednesday—a beat could juice Elon’s cult, a miss might send it crashing back to South Africa. X is ablaze: @neutron_org hypes deliveries as a “BTC proxy,” @neilksethi warns “soft ADP = rate cut bets,” and traders are rabid fools piling into $TSLA calls like it’s 2021!
Index Insanity
September overnight futures are losing their goddamn mojo—desktop junkies print Dow (YM) +69, SPX (ES) +7.75, NDX (NQ) +15.75, while this fucking $VIX clings to its masturbatory 16.85. Fear? The lack of it should twist your knickers—the shitstorm’s lurking, overdue, and ready to detonate!
BTC Quicksand Saga
$BTC spot’s at $107,603.25 as I scribble this monotonous screed, parked like a lazy bastard for over a week, dipping into that 105k clusterfuck yesterday but clawing back—thank Christ! My targets hold—upside $116,313.22, downside $98,504.80, tested to $98,276.14 on June 22nd and held. Bottom in? My dope says yes, for better or worse. Day trade resistance:
$108,289.95
$108,742.85
$109,442.19
$109,875.08
—scalp profits here, you degenerate day traders, and pray the Flux Capacitor doesn’t fry!
Pre-Market Stock Slaughter
Let’s bloviate:
$LCID at 2.03 on high volume
$BMNR at 46.00 up +36.69%
$AVAV at 252.40 down -11.42%
$NBIS at 50.31 down -9.07%
$TQQQ at 81.11—fucking thrilling chaos!
Required Reading for You Slack-Jawed Pikers
Henrik Zeberg’s Final Warning: Dodge the shitstorm or get rekt.
The Mother of All Crashes: My magnum opus on this house-of-cards hell.
Precision Levels SPX: Surgical Substack for SPX, SPY, ES degenerates.
Caffeinated Capital: Daily gut-punch wisdom, learn or bleed.
Follow the Frenzy
Dive into My Fucking Notes for my unhinged intraday rants and brain-melting droppings—short, savage, and kicking you in the teeth, you wild pikers! Check my pledge to ditch the paywall: Pledge Announcement.
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.