When did “Conservatives,” the perpetually pinch-faced, fiscally constipated buzz killers morph into Beyonce buying a multimillion-dollar “dragon egg,” because she saw one on “Game of Thrones” and just had to have it?

    Weren’t y’all the ones who had a dying duck fit every time Obama took Michelle to dinner at a D.C. restaurant? Yes. Yes you were. You were the ones who needed your smelling salts to recover from a simple weeknight dinner in Georgetown.

What happened? Now the administration thinks nothing of taking the “company jets” to football games, extended golf vacays and cheese curd festivals. Millions of taxpayer dollars—the same ones you used to get so hysterical about—are spent for the Secret Service to protect not just Trump as he travels, but also his enormous (“seriously the biggest, as some would say “very big”) entourage of family, friends, celebrity impersonators and, I’m fairly certain I’m right about this, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir just because it irks Mitt so much.

You “Conservatives” are starting to make West Coast Hollywood Elite Johnny Depp’s $30,000 weekly wine budget look almost Amish.

    As a lifelong liberal who has almost never met a social or environmental program I didn’t clutch to my breast like an endangered Hawaiian Monk Seal, let me just try to wrap my head around this. Nope. Still not working.

    Look, we liberals always asked for more money than we wanted or needed because it’s the oldest negotiation strategy in the book. If we asked for billions for windmill energy research, we only really needed or expected millions. But y’all? You’re making us look—and it pains me to say this—like the grownups in the room. I kinda hate it.

    When will we wake up from this madness? It’s as if we were in a Chinese restaurant together and we ate “magic fortune cookies” and switched lives. What? You never saw “Freaky Friday”? Well, it’s exactly like that.

    We loved being lovely young free spirit Lindsay Lohan and now we’re uptight, purse-lipped Jamie Lee Curtis. Thanks for nothing.

    I honestly worry about the national debt now. Somebody has to. Missy.

    While we all poked fun at the silly Laura Linton for her clueless comments a few weeks back, she’s the poster princess for the New Conservatism. At this rate, I expect Mitch McConnell, who is Mr. Potter from “It’s a Wonderful Life” without all the generosity of spirit, to announce he’s planning to open a titty bar in the Senate chambers with treasury money because “Hell’s bells, it’s not like we can’t print more, amiright Kanye?”

    Only John McCain and Tennessee’s Bob Corker seem to be maintaining some semblance of old-school conservative financial planning.

    The rest of them? They’ve lost their minds. Build a wall? You betcha. We’ll figure out the money part later. Blow the defense budget up to the stratosphere? No worries. The next generation can figure that one out. Universal health care coverage to protect American families? Uhhh, let’s not get crazy here.

    Celia Rivenbark is a NYT-bestselling author and columnist. Follow her on Instagram @celiarivenbark.