I resisted as long as I could, but it finally happened. I joined Thefacebook. For those of you unaware of it, meaning that you have lives, brains and such, Facebook — hereafter refereed to as the “Hook-up Matrix” — is a way for us cool kids to stay in contact with thousands of other college students desperately seeking new ways to flirt and feel special.

This online networking system actually counts your friends. It’s like a sorority somewhere accidentally let in a smart girl with programming skills. Wherever this happened, this merger of brains and superficiality took off. I’m expecting the Web site will soon offer cute sweaters and handbags with URLs stitched on the front.

The site (http://www.thefacebook .com) is basically the same thing as a Greek organization, minus all the male lovemaking involved in fraternity rush. Now, it’s all digital, although I’ve yet to be hazed. That probably comes in the form of junkmail and pop-ups a semester later.

From my uber-journalist skills I discovered the site was made by some kids at Harvard a couple of years ago. This bothers me for two reasons.

One, I’ve never felt comfortable with a school that openly supports rowing as a dominant sport, and dos, well I don’t know how to tell you this, but Satan is a Harvard alum. God was a Yale man, so the two have never really gotten along. Then, ol’ Luci convinced Jesus to come to Harvard, but he transferred after three days to Brown and it’s been pretty redeeming ever since.

Wait a minute … where were we? Oh … Facebook …

I stood side-by-side with my G.D.I. friends for months trying not to let the Hook-up Matrix get me, but sadly I took the red pill on Wednesday. This is only the newest in stupid trends to grab America’s youth. Remember music sharing? Man, that whole thing didn’t pan out.

Facebook allows users to post a picture and list their address and phone number. At this point, the name should be changed to “Stalking for Dummies.”

Among listing favorite activities, books, movies, users can form groups of the opened or closed variety. There are groups for everything from “Vol Football Fanz” to “I love the ‘Garden State’ soundtrack.” They were going to call that one “Hiding in the Closet” but the Scarabbean Senior Society had already taken it.

There is one option on Facebook that’s particularly confusing — the poke. Yes, you read that correctly. You can “poke” people. When I signed on this morning I had been poked five times. It just felt dirty. The two I got from girls were OK, but the three from my male friends just felt wrong. I don’t want anyone “poking” me, except maybe Angelina Jolie.

I replied with my own series of pokes, but then I decided to just watch “The OC” and kill my brain cells in a constructive fashion.

So why did I cave? What turned me away from my “Wait until marriage before I Facebook” friends? It’s very simple, really. I want to see how many friends I have. Yes, I’m that vain. Currently, the number is like four, so you — the viewing public — have to get to work. Sign up now and make me your friend. The goal is 1,000.

If I reach that mark I have agreed to write a pro-Student Government Association column for student body vice president Rachel Clement. She’s convinced I make up all the friends I reference in my columns, so to her I wish to say “Eat it, Frenchie.”

She’s not French, but I just think it sounds better.

Any random person can be created on Facebook, so I have set up a control buddy to gage the viewer response — “James Banks’ Prosthetic Penis.” The former Vol receiver/quarterback/ coaching nightmare was booted from the football squad for using a fake jimmy to crank out a urine sample for a drug test he failed two months ago. I’m not making that up.

Athletes are among the most popular Facebook users. Take for example, Vol punter Britton Colquitt’s profile. When you see his photo you’ll understand why people from Farragut think they’re better than people from Bearden. You’ll also understand why punters aren’t considered men, just girls playing dress up.

So for those of you avoiding join the craze, please stay celibate. But for those of you plugged in already, stop by and say hi, but poke me and die.

— Glenn LaFollette