Tacky Plastic Jesus needs to die

I need your help again, guys. Backstory: I was about 5 when my grandfather, my mother's stepfather, shuffled loose the mortal coil. As my mother and I were going through his house, I wanted something to remember him by, so I chose something I was certain no one else would want: a 1-foot-tall Tacky Plastic Jesus.

I don't use caps for shits and giggles, y'all. Tacky Plastic Jesus has taken on a proper-noun role in my life.

I'm not Catholic anymore. I'm not even sure I believe in God. Yet I can't get rid of him, because a sliver of my primitive lizard brain is certain God will smite me if I throw Tacky Plastic Jesus in the trash.

I'm screwed. I don't want him. Devon doesn't want him. I haven't actually asked, but a wife knows these things, as does anyone who has ever met him. I can't ask him or any of you to do the deed for me, because God might smite you instead, and then I'd have your blood on my hands, and your souls could burn in eternal damnation fires.

I'm taking suggestions. Best suggestion gets my everlasting gratitude -- or Tacky Plastic Jesus, if that's how you roll.