For some reason today I've just had the runs off and on. Nothing major, just when I need to go, I need to go.So I was at Target waiting by the dressing rooms while I waited for my daughter to try on and pick out a new swimming suit. We had been there a while already when the urge hit me so I figured that we'd be out of there soon enough and we'd be on our way. I have a thing about public bathrooms and will only use one if there's no other choice. Five minutes pass and suddenly I realize that my first plan of waiting til we went home was folly and I needed to go ASAP. My daughter was still in the dressing room getting into a swiming suit and my son was waiting with me doing a "gotta poop" dance with me as it felt like a bullet train was making its way through my intestines.I decided to call my wife who was looking at some stuff on the other side of the store and tell her to hurry on over and watch the kids while I went and took care of my business. She said she'd come over right away. Another five minutes pass my daughter comes out in a swimsuit that didn't fit right, I had beads of sweat forming on my forehead and things had gotten into a crisis state. I called my wife again, "WHERE ARE YOU?!!!". She was there in two minutes. I pointed towards the kids and left running for the bathroom, almost positive I'd poop in my pants in just a few seconds.I passed the cashiers who all gave me wierd looks as I darted past them to the bathrooms. Running into the bathroom there were two stalls, the handicapped one, and the normal one. I decided to take the handicapped one as, like everyone else, I will take the extra space when I can get it.I turned and shut the door with a slam and proceeded to start "The Move". Conissuers of poop stories will know what I'm talking about. Just as I'm about to sit down the door of the stall swung wide open. Instinctively I launched myself forward while trying to stop the swining door and close off the stream of poop. But it was too late, Chuck Norris himself couldn't stop the onslaught of poop shoot forth from my bottom as I tried to close the door. It took me two tries to get the door shut before I actually pooped where I was meant to. I had left streaks of poop in some kind of sick Jackson Pollack painting on the ground. I began to laugh, the irony of all this happening at a place with the name of "Target" was not lost on me.I tried to clean it up, and got most of the fecal matter off the ground with TP. But there were still long yellowish brown streaks on the floor. I'm sorry Target.