So, Our Imperiled Guest befuddedly bumbles about for a bit before discovering his beer has magically transported itself over to a nearby shelf, and here's where Supernatural first decides to go all Final Destination on our collective derriere this evening. Our Imperiled Guest stretches to retrieve his magical beer from the shelf, but when he pulls the bottle back over towards the workbench, he inadvertently sends a Mason jar filled with nails tumbling down to the concrete floor. The jar of course detonates like a bomb, sending nails skittering everywhere. "Dammit!" Our Imperiled Guest curses, setting his sorely neglected beer down yet again so he might retrieve a broom from the other side of the garage, completely oblivious to the fact that in doing so, he's freed a skateboard the broom'd been propping up. And as he busies himself sweeping up shards of glass, that skateboard silently and rather ominously rolls over behind him until Our Imperiled Guest backs up onto the damn thing and goes flying through the air towards yet another set of shelves. DUN! With arms flailing, Our Imperiled Guest somehow manages to halt his fall mere seconds before he impales his eyes on a wicked-looking set of hedge trimmers -- a depressing development I'm sure Raoul would protest most vociferously were he not currently obliged to keep that gaping maw of his shut -- but in his wild attempts to regain his balance, Our Imperiled Guest ends up knocking over a basket full of golf balls. D'OH! Our Imperiled Guest quite naturally goes flying through the air once again the instant he steps on one of them, and he lands so heavily on his back beneath the open garage door that the wind quite clearly's been knocked out of him. And as he struggles to suck in some air, the golf ball he'd stepped on goes bouncing over to the garage's far corner, where it lands on a -- wait for it -- mousetrap. Oh, show. Oh, clever, clever show.