International English comes in many flavors, all of them dumb. The most familiar to the casual observer is "advertising-slogan" IE, distinguished by a fetishistic attachment to the simple declarative sentence. Lotus distilled advertising IE down to its pure essence last year, with a series of TV spots in which people held up signs reading "I am." (Thereby broadening the target audience to include not just those in their first year of English lessons, but those in their first five minutes.) Meanwhile, Ford, apparently frustrated at European drivers' willingness to make do with compact cars, admonishes them to "Expect more." And lest one think that American companies are the chief offenders, the new Dutch cable-modem Internet service Chello has plastered half the trams in Amsterdam with the mindlessly opaque "Hello -- I'm Chello!" This leads one to suspect that the company selected its name solely to rhyme with the word "hello." Which is just sad, really.

As nauseating as ad-slogan IE is, it pales in comparison to "conversational-insert" IE -- the habit many Europeans have of departing their native languages at critical junctures to insert some word or phrase in what they believe to be English, for rhetorical effect. A few examples, again from Holland, are adduced. A choreographer explaining what she looks for in a dancer: "Ik keuze altijd voor mensen die iets hebben van de  it factor." A pair of students getting coffee before a cram session: "Neem jij suiker? Nee, ik ben klaar. Let's brainstorm." A computer repairman: "Je kunt wel je schijf vervangen, maar de toetsenboord is kapot. That's the problem." A jungle DJ: "Een geweldige nummer, man. Echt  phat beats."

What's most depressing is the image of Americans these phrases reflect. If we say savoir faire and  je ne sais quoi because this is what we imagine the French have, what must the Europeans think of us? Do they see us constantly sitting around brainstorming, listening to phat beats while we search for the it factor? Do they think we're all motivational speakers, or dot-com entrepreneurs?

Clearly, International English is a plague. It's easy to remain complacent while the effects are largely confined to foreign countries; but what if the United States should become exposed? We all know language is a virus, but what if it turns out to be a retrovirus? What if this ghastly creole should jump hosts, hitch a ride to LAX aboard some airline magazine and spread uncontrollably? Indeed, we may already be infected; the time to act is now. The French have a quasi-governmental body, the Academie Française, sworn, among other things, to protect the French language from International English. We must establish just such a body to protect the English language from International English. Our cultural heritage is at stake, man. We must defend our it factor. Let's brainstorm, before it's too late.

Matt Steinglass lives in Amsterdam, where he writes about design, technology, Russia, and music, among other things.

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