I have to admit something.
I have a very weird, undiagnosed condition.

See, this is different from carnophobia, which does exist.
Carnoblubphobia is not the fear of meat- but the fear of the blub, grub, bounce, flounce, of meat.
Fat-bounce, veins, and discoloration, and "hangy," and piece-of-trampoline-meat that sends your teeth bouncing off one another when you bite down to give it a good chewin'. 
...Any meat that requires a "good chewin.'"

In fact, my boyfriend waits for signs of my carnoblubphobia.
He loves it. 
Less meat for me equals more meat for him. Honey boyfriend don't give a shit.

The minute I see, bite, or have to spit out anything questionable... his eyes light up.
Helllllllo extra hamburger! Chicken! Steak! My carnoblubphobia does not discriminate.

But suddenly, change those mammals to crustaceans, and it's a whole 'nother story.

HEPATOPANCREAS.  Hell yes I'll eat it. 

INTESTINE.  Welp, unless it's really easy to pull out, it's going in.  (yes, that line down the back of the shrimp? It's poop, baby).

I'd list another gross, yet delicious thing in the crustacean anatomy, but I choose to stay pretty ignorant on the rest of the sea slurp details. I don't love the thought of eating shrimp chute, but holy nebula, you bet I'm gunna!
And boy howdy, did I!

Boyfriend and goodfriend by side, I slurped down more of these crawdads than you can shake a stick at, thank you Astor House.

Huge swarms of irritating flies aside, your "crawdad dump" was delightful!