Pre-Market Briefing: July 3, 2025, 8:38 AM EDT
Dispatches from The Last Sane Bastard in This Casino
Heavily Fortified Compound, Marco Island, FL
Well, slap me silly, it’s a lame-ass final day open—ain’t wasting your time or, what’s infinitely worse, my precious genius on this atavistic bullshit!
September pre-market futures paint a snoozefest: Dow (YM) +49, SPX (ES) +5.50, NDX (NQ) +18.75, while this fucking $VIX clings to its masturbatory 16.77 like a smug bastard. Fear? As I barked yesterday, the lack of it should twist your knickers—the shitstorm’s lurking, overdue, and ready to bitch-slap us all!
BTC Churn and Burn
$BTC spot’s at $109,656.75 as I scribble this monotonous screed, and mother of sweating Jesus, we hit $110,300.00 in the last 12 hours—now just churning while retail retards scalp their $100 crumbs like drunk monkeys!
It slipped into that 105k clusterfuck yesterday but clawed back—thank Christ! Check Caffeinated Capital’s killer piece, The Market: Bitcoin's Billion-Dollar Belly Flop, a damn fine read. My targets stand—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:
$110,042.60
$110,300.00
$110,814.81
$111,329.62
—lock scalps here, you degenerate day traders, or the Flux Capacitor might blow!
Pre-Market Stock Circus
Let’s bloviate:
$DDOG at 148.39 up +9.9% pre-market on cloud hype
$ORCL at 230.70 steady as a rock
$SNPS at 547.00 up +4.57% on chip buzz
and $BMNR now at 59.20—pure pre-holiday madness!
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 Frenzy
Dive into My Fucking Notes for my unhinged intraday rants and brain-shattering droppings—short, savage, and kicking your ass, you wild pikers!
I am KingCAMBO, smoke 'em if ya got 'em, and that’s how I ROLL on this pre-market snooze.
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.