"Sleety-Pie? SLEETY-PIE! Damnit, you lazy horse! Guess I'll have to prepare this turkey myself." The Ice King turns on the oven that presumably is in this room, plucks the feathers off the dead turkey, rings its head off, and puts it back on the platter. His stomach rumbling, he grumbles to himself and then looks around to see if anything else is already prepared for eating.