AS THOMAS JEFFERSON suggested in the Declaration of Independence, all men are created with roughly the same amount of disgusting baby gook smeared all over their bodies. After that, it is generally acknowledged that equality is pretty much done for.

Disparities in individual characteristics are natural dividers of men. I get allergies, you are poor, and he--though rich--is quite ugly.

To the original Harvard men these differences were trivial. They were all wealthy, they all wore those funny looking old outfits that made everyone appear unsightly, and they all drank fine ale at the neighborhood "ye olde shoppe" (for indeed these were carefree days and no one cared much then for spelling).

But a crisis soon arose. Harvard, for reasons that still befuddle many a blueblood, began to grow more lenient in its admission policy. Strange new men populated this formerly sacred ground--the strangest of whom, because of their bumpy body shapes and high pitched voices, became known pejoratively as "women."

At first the self-proclaimed elite tried to separate themselves from the rabble simply by affecting lisps and limps. This course, however, proved disastrous, for they were much ridiculed at parties. The result was an often unpleasant scene:

Rufus:"Hey buddy, whatsa matta wid your pal, de fancy pants ova dare? Whyzee limpin' funny-like? HAR HAR HAR!"

Theodore:(looking up and away) "Thir, if you mutht thpit when you thpeak, kindly thpit toward a plathe that is removed from my perthon. Thank ye motht kindly."

Rufus:"Who you callin 'Thir', twit?"

Theodore:"Ohhh...I feel motht faint, I mutht retahre. Benthon, fetch me my thweata! Ohhhh..."

And so in order to remove themselves from the social catastrophe that had been created by the rise of open admissions and financial aid, the well-to-do students looked to their parents' yacht clubs for a solution. Enter the Harvard final clubs.

NOW DON'T GET me wrong, I have no intention of knocking final clubs. The clubs are places where people pay for the privilege of drinking with people who have paid for the privilege of drinking with them. I'm sure, in their own inimitable way, they are immeasurably beneficial to the Harvard community.

I have no objections to the people in the clubs but to the idea currently behind the clubs themselves. That is, the clubs are incomplete, old-hat, half-assed. What I'm trying to say is: they just don't go far enough.

Now that we are in the 20th century, there is a lot of foolish talk that the final clubs should be abolished because they are anachronistic. Nonsense. Did the apes simply die out because they could no longer afford to pay the exorbitant fees for indecent exposure? No, they evolved into human beings who shortly developed fine clothing, thereby escaping these hefty fines.

The point is that it is not time for the clubs to die, but rather to evolve. the final clubs were a bold experiment, a revolutionary country club-like method of dealing with individual differences, but they still are only one step on the path to social nirvana. My method to complete the process is called Project Final Final Club, or PFFC for short.

PFFC OPERATES on a simple principle: if it is good that certain Harvard men have separated themselves from the rest of the community, it would be even better if final club members could undergo further selection procedures to separate the cream from the skim milk. I propose that members of each already-selective club divide themselves into even smaller and more homogenous groups.

These people should assume a new animal name and build a house on top of their current final club. Into this higher house, they, but not other members of the final club, may enter. The new group could now party with peers who come even closer to the final club ideal than the original club members.

Yet within this new group, it seems that there are still people who are a bit different, a bit off from what might be best. We must section again. Another house shall be erected on top of the house that rests on top of the final club.

Again? Sure, the process must continue until we are at last left with one "Final Member" who is the possessor of a room that only he may enter. At last we have achieved the ultimate social utopia: complete isolation.

This is the "final final club," the last step in the Harvard man's evolution toward social perfection. Its one member is the most privileged man alive, and though he may be paying a bit more for this most lofty club-house, at least he is now getting the total deal. In this room, he will live and party at Harvard for all his undergraduate years in peace and absolute happiness. I mean abtholute happineth.