They’ll never find the bodies. And I certainly won’t be hungry for a while.
One night, a man ran out of gas and found himself lost and walking down a long country road surrounded by corn fields when he finally comes upon an old, picture perfect, farm house with the porch light on. He knocks and an older woman answers the door, welcomes him in and says “sure, we would love to have you for dinner” just as he notices that the family sitting at the table has a fileted human head on a platter.
I tell everyone he died in the ocean after our plane crashed, and that I survived for two months on the island by hunting ‘sea birds and other small game.’ He really died about a month after we both swam to shore, and I hit him over the head with that rock so I could live off his remains until they found me.