Like a lonely baby sloth, clinging to its mother, The Toucher-Feeler will down a few drinks and then attach himself to you like his life depends on it. Whether you're longtime friends or brand new acquaintances, he'll still be emphatically professing how much he loves you dude and what a true bro you are as he gently strokes your face with one hand and spills his drink on you with the other.
Escape Plan: The Toucher-Feeler is like a parasite, and will cling to whatever host happens to be the closest. Maneuver him to a sturdy house plant, prop him up against it, and head for the kitchen on the pretense of getting another drink.
No, your house isn't haunted, and those aren't the sounds of a mournful spirit with unfinished business in this world; that is the sound of The Weeper, who is incapable of opening a bottle of beer without also popping the cap on a bigger bottle of unfiltered emotions. As they continue to drink, they'll continue to get sadder and less comprehensible until they become a soggy blob of tears, snot, and dying cat noises.
Escape Plan: Once the waterworks have turned on, there's no turning them back off again until The Weeper passes out from drunkenness and exhaustion. Try to gently escort them to bed at the earliest possible chance to mitigate the spread of their sadness.
It's Friday night, and you're surrounded by friends, laughing and drinking and having a good time. You know what that means? It means it's TIME TO START POUNDING SOME FACES. The Brawler is the star of his own shitty action movie, and things are about to heat up. If anyone looks at him the wrong way, or the right way, or sideways, or at his girlfriend, or not at his girlfriend enough, they are doing the equivalent of walking right up and slapping him in the face, and he is not going to take it anymore. He'll be the one starting a loud, needless confrontation in the middle of your party, and generally shattering any feelings of comfort and camaraderie that had been cultivated over the course of the night.
Escape Plan: Avoidance is the only method of escape. Just don't avoid him TOO pointedly, or too casually, or you run the risk of "starting shit."
Through some mysterious and perhaps mystical drinking secrets, The Blackout will somehow find a way to be entirely trashed and face down on your floor within the first hour of the party. You'll never be entirely sure how they managed to consume so much alcohol in such a short period of time, but it doesn't matter now that they are basically an unwieldy, organic piece of furniture taking up way too much space in your living room.
Escape Plan: Why would you want to escape? The Blackout has unwittingly just become your newest party game! Draw funny stuff on their face! See how many household objects you can stack on top of them! Deck them out in funny sunglasses and hats! Oh, also occasionally double-check to make sure they're breathing, because man, that would be SUPER awkward and really kill the party vibe.
The most terrifying thing about The Fountain is that, while there will definitely be one at your party, it isn't any necessarily any one person consistently. It could be you, or me, or ANY of us who takes it a bit too far, and suddenly finds themselves unceremoniously spraying vomit on your rad Pulp Fiction poster and totally ruining it. The best you can hope for is that you won't be the one doing the spraying this time.
Escape Plan: Much like the inevitable march toward the grave, there is no escaping The Fountain. All you can do is prepare. Hide your expensive electronics in the closet and pray to the alcohol deity of your choosing to carry you un-barfed-upon through the night.
The night is clearly drawing to a close, people are heading home, and all you can think about is laying your sleepy head on your pillow and catching so many Z's. Unfortunately for you, The Lingerer is still here even though the person who invited him -- your friend's ex's brother's co-worker -- left 6 hours ago, and in an impressive display of obliviousness he has just cracked open another brewski and is DOWN to party. You'll wearily try to make conversation with him, occasionally dropping hints like "I'm SO tired," or "Man is it ALREADY 3am?" or "Seriously, can you get the fuck out of here," but to no avail. He's in this for the long haul, and unless you want to leave him in your house unsupervised, then so are you.
Escape Plan: You already know that The Lingerer can't pick up on social cues, so the only alternative is to physically escort him to the door, gently guide him through it, say goodnight, and close it in his face. At least then, if he's still lingering, he's doing it outside where you don't have to talk to him.