Alice's days are filled with a permeating ennui. There simply must be more to life than watching Yo Gabba Gabba and torturing Mommy with that infernal zebra scooter that incessantly plays "Pop Goes the Weasel" with Carribean beats. She can walk. She can feed herself. The daily churnings of a life searching for meaning.
Ah, but now her monkey has a name, an identity, and a purpose for Alice. Now she must show Debbie that affection delivered by soggy kisses and deep hugs, plastic corn on the cob in a talking pot, and Mommy's cell phone hold the secrets to self realization. And now, because of the teachings she must impart to Debbie, it is all the more important to watch Fresh Beat Band, and all the more reason to run to the couch, wailing, and fling her head upon her forearms to express her dismay when Mommy insists on turning off the TV. This is her training, and subsequently, Debbie's! How will she know how to say hello in Chinese if she is forbidden to watch Ni Hao, Kai Lan? And more importantly, how can she share the depth of her knowledge with Debbie if Mommy shackles her education?
Dejected, she must settle for rearranging the pillows on the couch. Pillows!! Mommy has doomed her to a meaningless existence. Poor, tortured Alice!