Frankenleather

The nice lady from the repair shop may have written my ratty old leather jacket off, but that means nothing to a desperate man with a needle, thread, rock TV and most importantly, no damn ability to shop for clothes without going all rargh-hulk-smashey.

Three hours later, both arms are back on, the shoulderpad is back, and the back is all un-hulked.  Mrs Repair Lady:  You're a wuss.  Neener neener!

Bruce Banner must spend half his life re-stitching seams.

I was half tempted by jarkman 's suggested retro dispatch rider jacket, mind. I'm going to need something dashing to go with the pennyfarthing...