Tonight on Jellyfish Manor... 
I refuse to believe it!Bob questions the very meaning of his life. There must be something more than this, Carla. There's GOT to be.
Oh, shut up, Bob: We're jellyfish, all right? We float! End of discussion.Daughter Ashley moves in with Kent, but soon has second thoughts about her 'first-and-only' love...
You never told me that you were a BOX jellyfish! 
What's your point, Ashley? And Rafael learns a hard lesson about mortality when his friend Rodrigo washes ashore during a particularly high tide.
Don't worry, honey, he's gone to that big coral reef in the sky.But will the mother's comforting explanations ring true after a horrified Rafael discovers the lifeless tentacles of his friend floating in a shallow tidal pool? Lies, mother, all lies! Now, Raffy, darling -- Eternal life, indeed: It's all just a tissue of lies!Find out next on Jellyfish Manor! Come on, Ashley, darling, time to get ready for school. I am so out of here! 
Wait, you forgot your bag lunch! Oh, and don't forget to brush your hair. They're tentacles, Mom: Tentacles! Yep. "Sunrise, sunset," huh, Carla? You better believe it, darling: Just yesterday she was a mere polyp attached to a clam shell. An oyster shell, you mean. Same difference. Polyp, nothing: I can still remember her when she was a free-floating planula! Bob? Why, Bob, darling, what's wrong? Oh, it's nothing, honey. It's just that, well... sometimes I feel like our life has no meaning. You're just hungry, that's all. Wait till some fresh fish eggs drift into view. Then you'll remember what side your bread is buttered on. Speak of the devil, check out the herring larvae at 6:00. Ooh, it's times like this that I wish we could swim like a fish and not simply pump our somewhat ungainly umbrellas in the general direction of din-din! See, there: That's exactly what I mean: If we were a fish, at least we could swim around a bit. You think too much, Bob, that's your problem. Impossible, darling: We jellyfish don't even have brains, remember? That's just an old marine biologist's tale, darling: You know how Homo sapiens scientists are: they like to feel superior to the animal life that they study. Well, I'm afraid they may have pinned the tail on the donkey when it comes to THIS particular party game, Carla. Nonsense. Oh, fine, maybe we jellies don't have a brain, per se... or even a central nervous system as such... Uh-huh. but we have a nerve network that serves us in very good stead, indeed, Bob. Oh, sure: It lets us eat, sleep, eat, sleep, eat, sleep.... Now, now, Hamlet! Enough with the soliloquys already! And above all drift! Oh, if you only knew how tired I get of drifting, Carla. You're not drifting, Bob, you're... you're 'going with the flow,' okay? There's a difference. Whatever. Now keep pumping: We're still miles away from that tasty-looking herring larvae that I told you about. 
Besides, if I remember correctly, we sea jellies do something a trifle more exciting than merely sleeping, eating and drifting, eh, Tiger? Ha ha! What, reproduction, you mean? You better believe it, mister! I mean, meow! Now, Carla, you know very well that our species doesn't even TOUCH during our so-called sexual activity. Well, it's still exciting, isn't it? It has its moments, I suppose. You guess? Just be grateful for what you've got in the thrill department, mister: You know that the majority of us jellyfish don't even have 'sex' at all, but merely procreate by unilaterally releasing jellyfish polyps into the sea, with neither a wham, nor a bam, nor a thank-you-ma'am! Great, so I'm supposed to be grateful merely because my empty life could, in theory, be even emptier? I'm sorry, Carla, but I'm just not hungry. Suit yourself. (Mm, these transparent globules may not look like much, but they sure do please Mr. Tum-Tum, don't they, Bob? Ahem! I mean, of course they please my 'coelenteron,' as those human scientists insist on calling it. Why, Ashley, Darling, what's wrong? I've broken up with Kent. Waaaaah! Oh, poor baby. Here, eat some herring larvae: It will make you feel better. But, Ashley, you only just told us that you were going to love him to (and I do quote, young lady) 'the end of time'! I know, Dad, but then I found out that Kent was lying to me all along! What? I found out he's not a normal jellyfish at all: He's a BOX jellyfish. That's right: He doesn't just automatically sting his prey with the usual mild alkali venom: He actively zaps them with one of the most toxic venoms on earth, on land or sea! Oh, that's horrible. How primitive! 
Then again, my sister-in-law Alice once dated a Portuguese Man-of-War and they got along... well, 'swimmingly,' you might say. Oh, Mom, you know what a peacenik I am. I want nothing to do with those horrid box jellyfish! So Kent is a box jellyfish, is he? I thought there was something awful rectangular about that umbrella of his, but I've been too obsessed with the so-called 'meaning of life' to realize the true significance of that observation. Well, Ashley, you know what they say: There are plenty of fish in the sea, right? Speaking of which, I feel like a pig up here eating all these herring larvae. Is somebody going to help me before I literally burst my own bubble up here! Wow, it's been a long day. Tell me about it, Mom. First your father here starts morbidly obsessing about the meaning of life... Poor dad. And then my peacenik daughter discovers that her new boyfriend is one of the deadliest jellyfish on earth. A box jellyfish called Chironex fleckeri, to be exact, Dad, with a rap sheet longer than my tentacles when it comes to killing human beings. Uh-oh, watch out, Carla, there's more angst where that came from: Here comes Rafael, crying like a banshee. Oh, honey, what's wrong? Pump your way over here and tell mama. He's dead, ma: He's dead! Who's dead, darling? Tell mama. Oh, dear: That WAS an unusually high tide last night. But where, darling: Where did you see him? I saw him... SNIFF! Yes, yes? or rather I saw what was left of his umbrella... Yes? In a shallow tidal pool just past that big sandbank in Goosley Creek! Waaaaah! Now, darling, Rodrigo isn't dead, silly. He's... He's gone to that big coral reef in the sky. Yes? Yes? Why is Rodrigo's umbrella (or his bell, so to speak) still lying in the tidal pool in Goosley Creek? I am! I am! What about you, sport: Do you want to play Monopoly? confusedly: Huh? Play what? Play Monopoly, you silly. I'm going to be the hat. I'm going to be the battleship. I'm going to be the race car. Hey, no fair: You were the race car last time. No, I wasn't. Yes, you were! No, I wasn't. Yes, you were! No, I wasn't. Yes, you were! No, I wasn't. Yes, you were!