Treat them well? Sure. But respect them? No, man, they're just brushes.

And I treat my arm just fine, I'll have you know! It's just being a--a spoiled brat right now.

[ the arm squirms even more furiously in disagreement, eventually wriggling away from James entirely and drags itself over to one of the mannequins, latching onto its leg. After a few seconds, though, the arm starts smoking again and the smell of burnt metal begins to permeate the area. ]

See! It's got nothing to do with me not respecting it--it doesn't even respect itself!