What the fuck do consequences even look like? The whole concept is totally abstract, just some looming, nebulous cloud of shit he's spent his whole life skirting around. Jeff huffs, giving up and going a bit limp as he stops squirming. The expression on his face, as he almost literally drags his feet, looks an awful lot like a sulky pout.

(Except he totally isn't pouting, because rock stars don't pout.)

"Fine."

Then: "Candy's easy to make, anyway. There's just, like, machines that spit it out."

He knows, because he saw it on Sesame Street or Mister Rogers or something when he was a kid.