I would sell my soul to Satan for Amber Rose’s body.

When you look at as many tabloids and paparazzi pictures as I do, you have to get over the body envy. These people look like they do because they get paid to be ridiculously attractive, while I get paid to blog, which generally involves a lot of bathrobe-wearing and consumption of fluorescent orange macaroni and cheese from a box. Obviously, if I was going to get seriously hung up on wanting to look like a celebrity, this job would be detrimental to my mental health.

But whenever I see Amber Rose, I can’t help but get all green with envy. The woman is FIERCE. As a lifelong buttless wonder, I’ve never had any kind of rear end in my life (or hips, for that matter), and I would love to develop some at some point in my life. I doubt that’s going to happen, but in a perfect world, I’d have Amber Rose’s bangin’ body. I’m not sure about the zombified color contacts, but really, who’s looking at her eyes? Or her handbag, for that matter, which we’re having trouble identifying.

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