Through the magic of this Chowhound thread, Amy and I found paczkis in some weird retirement home on Adams. They were prune, and the best damn paczkis I've had, since they had a much better balance of tart and sweet than the usual gloopy ones from Detroit. I've still got one left, which I will eat with gusto tonight! GUSTO!
It was easy, too, all I had to do was go through the giant metal gate, tell the overall-wearing guy who looked like a bouncer that "I read on the internet that you can get paczkis here," and he grunted and motioned me inside. There, a bunch of families in total church finery were drinking coffee in a room that my grandmother would have loved (curio cabinets full of porcelain dolls and lace). We waited for the woman behind the counter to get done chatting with some woman wearing a plum business dress (with shoulderpads), and bought eight. The plum woman lamented the fact that they're now $1.50, telling us conspiratorially that they used to be a dollar. She then tried to get us to go to the mass that was just starting, but luckily I was able to brush her off because I wasn't "dressed for church."
Slobbery saves the day!
Amy and I later learned that Isaac and Amanda apparently don't have the same crazy memories of ZOMG PACZKIS, but dutifully ate theirs in front of us (we thought about bein' total grubbers and asking for the other ones back, but it seemed beneath me, someone so recently mistaken for church-going).