Pussy vs. Weiner

I just won an impromptu battle of wits on the highway (I-85 southbound near mile marker 111 in North Carolina). A car full of college age girls (it’s hard to tell these days) came up along-side me. The girl in the passenger seat held up a sign that read “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Well, figuring this would go nowhere or maybe she’d flash her breasts at me (it happens), I shrugged and nodded.
When I did that she held up her kitty cat (and I mean a feline here). This elicited riotous laughter from the other girls in the car.
Figuring they got one over on me, she waved and they started to pull off. But I tooted my horn and waved them back. I wasn’t finished. They slowed down and dropped back beside me, all of them wary of what I might do.
I showed them the hot dog and the bag of nuts I’d just bought at a truck-stop.
Even from the next lane, I could see the kitty girl blush. The car erupted in hysterical laughter. And I claimed my victory.
If anyone can’t grasp the innuendo in this exchange, or why it was so funny, I’m sorry. I’m not going to explain it.
I assume the trucking gods prepared me for battle. I bought a hot dog I really didn’t want. And forty miles from the truck-stop it was still un-eaten. Now I know why I bought a hot dog I didn’t want.
After that a phrase got stuck in my head; “I grabbed my weiner and sallied forth to give battle.”

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