The Desperado: They get a dreamy look in their eyes, then, before you know it, swoop in quick as a bandit and shove their tongue down your throat.
The Zombie: Their lips are stiff and dead, and you want to whisper, “Pucker up, you lifeless weirdo,” but you can feel yourself become infected, the passion slowly draining.
The Lollipopper: They suck on your tongue like a child sucking on a Tootsie Pop. You want to say, “Hey, that’s bad, stop that,” but you can’t speak, because your tongue is vacuum-locked in their death grip.
The Kubrick: Toward the end of a long, intense make-out, you realize their eyes are open—and you get the creeping sense they’ve been open the whole time.
The Escher: You try to get solid contact, but the angles are just wrong. Their head is strangely tilted, and their lips don’t obey the laws of Euclidean geometry. Nothing makes sense.