`What can I say, Dolly?' the host says with a sigh, twisting the buttered strands of her ripped girdle between his fingers.  `Your children are murdered, your husband gone, a corpse in your bathtub, and your house is wrecked.  I'm sorry.  But what can I say?'  On the TV, the news is over, and they're selling aspirin.  `Hell, I don't know,' she says.  `Let's see what's on the late late movie.'