3 definitions by Kian Sucka
He is the definition of a gay lord. He smuggles 19 men in his house at once, and sucks their toe nails until its clean. Overall he's a communist that supports russia's views on how to take care of imepregnated cows and mother indians. FUcking bitch overall i love the shit he puts in my mouth omg, kiss my ass hairs and plunge them out with ur cheek bones!!!
Luke Level: DADDY PUT YOUR FINGER IN MY MOUTH AND PAINT MY DICKHOLE BLACK!
Parker Pratt: Hey dont worry, my cheekbones will do the job!
Parker Pratt: Hey dont worry, my cheekbones will do the job!
by Kian Sucka February 19, 2020
by Kian Sucka December 18, 2018
The gayest furry you shall ever encounter in your lifespan. In the end, the truth about Luke Level has been revealed, this man is the epitomy of a drug lord and a male stripper, he flashes his nipples to 3 year old girls in the street, and milks his ball sack every day. Luke Level's dad's bald head is shiny and I was able to see the reflection of him in a furry suit on there. What a bitch nigga! Luke has voted for hillary in the 2018 election and is jacking off to his mother's pube hair and period blood! EWW ! what an indian essay write im gonna write an essay on this, so basically lets get started.
for Greg Greger
I
Where were the neighbors? Out of town?
In my pajamas, I sat at my father's feet
in front of their squat, myopic television,
the first in our neighborhood.
On a screen the size of a salad plate,
toy airplanes droned over quilted fields.
Bouquets of jellyfish fell: parachutes abloom,
gray toy soldiers drifting together, drifting apart—
the way families do, but I didn't know that yet.
I was six or seven. The tv was an aquarium:
steely fish fell from the belly of a plane,
then burst into flame when they hit bottom.
A dollhouse surrendered a wall, the way such houses do.
Furniture hung onto wallpaper for dear life.
Down in the crumble of what had been a street,
women tore brick from brick, filling a baby carriage.
II
What was my young father,
just a few years back from that war,
looking for? The farm boy from Nebraska
for Greg Greger
I
Where were the neighbors? Out of town?
In my pajamas, I sat at my father's feet
in front of their squat, myopic television,
the first in our neighborhood.
On a screen the size of a salad plate,
toy airplanes droned over quilted fields.
Bouquets of jellyfish fell: parachutes abloom,
gray toy soldiers drifting together, drifting apart—
the way families do, but I didn't know that yet.
I was six or seven. The tv was an aquarium:
steely fish fell from the belly of a plane,
then burst into flame when they hit bottom.
A dollhouse surrendered a wall, the way such houses do.
Furniture hung onto wallpaper for dear life.
Down in the crumble of what had been a street,
women tore brick from brick, filling a baby carriage.
II
What was my young father,
just a few years back from that war,
looking for? The farm boy from Nebraska
Sydney: Omg! I love Luke! I want to fuck the shit out of luke until he pukes in my blue waffle vagina!
Luke Level: No need to worry I will fuck you with my long fox cock! on fox news!
Luke Level: No need to worry I will fuck you with my long fox cock! on fox news!
by Kian Sucka February 24, 2020