Without a shadow of doubt, one of the greatest inventions of the 21st century is the e-reader. Our reasoning is simple: As great as inventions such as the Internet and 3D printing are, they don't allow you to read Taken By The T-Rex during your daily commute. There are no other reasons.

But, as it turns out, old-timey people were also able to read ankle pornography or fantasy novels about women's rights in complete privacy, all thanks to the Fiske Reading Machine, a handheld device that was apparently designed by a sadistic yet bookwormish ophthalmologist.

Via Mobileread.com
A man so crucial to reading smut in public, pictures of him
are printed only in 50 actual shades of gray.

It was incredibly simple to use. Using a font size that could be measured only in gnome tears, each book was printed onto a series of thin pamphlet cards. Once slotted into the machine, all the reader had to do was look through the eyeglass and, voila, reading. It was reported at the time that Mark Twain's The Innocents Abroad, a weighty tome clocking in at 93,000 words, could be shrunk down to only 13 pamphlets, which is an impressive achievement considering that old-timey words were super long and slang hadn't been invented yet.

The guy behind this device, Rear Admiral Bradley Fiske, was even as c**k-sure as Steve Jobs or Elon Musk when it came to talk about how his invention was going to revolutionize the world. As he described it, the Fiske Reading Machine heralded the death of the modern-day printing press, a device that, as of this writing, has survived more certain deaths than The Goddamn Batman.

arogant/iStock/Getty Images
"Come back once you've co-existed with the microprocessor, kid."

As you've probably guessed by now, the Fiske Reading Machine did diddly-squat to revolutionize the world of reading. For all we know, the past equivalent of Google bought him out and shuttered the company. That leaves us with only one legacy: this amazing photo of Fiske bringing every ounce of his best game to a photo shoot.

Popular Mechanics
"Hey, girl. Heard you like words."

In order to receive this service, it was necessary to purchase a special printer that could both a) receive the radio signal and b) translate the signal into text/images and print the resulting newspaper. It was common practice for newspaper companies to transmit several times a day as the daily news progressed, a magnificent convenience only slightly offset by the fact that an average newspaper took six hours to print and the household machines could get their signals only between midnight and 6 a.m. So while you were sleeping off a hard day of barely getting by, your radio fax was clumsily printing the day's news ... all night long. No wonder it was called The Great Depression.

Comstock/Stockbyte/Getty Images
"If only there were some other way to get breaking news via radio."

Despite the promise of a more efficient way of hearing about cholera and the Dust Bowl, radio facsimiles never took off among the mainstream (i.e., the not-super-rich classes). Moreover, newspaper companies and advertisers were still wary of the technology and preferred the traditional methods. By the 1940s, the technology had largely died out, although that's probably because nothing of interest was happening in the world at that time.

It's hard to imagine that there's a historical precedent for wearable technology. After all, the history books aren't exactly crammed with depictions of old-timey geeks comparing how many messenger pigeons they can fit on their arm-mounted roost or fashioning spectacles with built-in map etchings. But, as it turns out, the people of 17th-century China were all over this trend before it was fashionable.

It was, to put it simply, a ring containing the most revolutionary piece of computing technology to exist in the world at the time: an abacus. We're aware that you're probably scoffing yourself into a coma right now, but it's thought that this ring was used by traders to calculate the value of goods, meaning that it's no crazier than whipping out your iPhone in the grocery store and totaling up your spending.

Via Chinaculture.org
There were even ridiculous deluxe models so you could be the "That guy" of the 1600s.

As you might notice in the above picture, the abacus wasn't suitable for anyone blessed with human fingers (that is, everyone). With the frame measuring in at only .5 inches by .2 inches, the beads were no larger than .03 inches and were able to be moved only if the user had a hairpin on hand. But, speaking personally, we can't wait for the modern-day version from Apple, which is region-locked and allows you to calculate the value of goods bought only from iTunes, as well as transmits all calculations directly to the NSA without telling you.

As you'd expect, the map also provided the driver with any useful information about the forthcoming area, like whether they were near a river/railway/hotel/mafia execution site, allowing them to take immediate action if necessary (keep driving/keep driving/sleep/drive away quickly, respectively).

The only real drawback to the Iter Avto was that it relied on the driver to create a map scroll listing the route, as well as all possible dangers, which really undermines the point of having a system that guides you through them. This might be why we're able to find a ton of information on the device but no information on its demise, as if one committed a terrible crime and humanity collectively decided never to speak of it again. Although, to be fair, that region probably had bigger things to worry about at the time, so we'll cut them a little slack.

And, hey, speaking of map technology that was around earlier than you thought possible, here's proof that Google Street View -- everyone's favorite source of unintentional hilarity -- was invented three decades before it became standard by MIT, a school whom we're now sure is the stateside equivalent of Hogwarts, because seriously have you seen how similar this is.

Admittedly, this innovative technology only allowed people to explore the streets of Aspen, Colorado. See, the aim of this project wasn't to completely future-steal Larry Page's s**t; it was to create an interactive map of the town that would allow local residents to explore the streets, view historic photos, and listen to interviews with other residents. In scenes that resembled the making of a blockbuster explode-fest action movie, this involved rigging a ton of cars and students with cameras and setting them loose on the streets.

MIT Architecture Machine Group
And seeing as how their "safety rig" was instructions to try to balance on the icy roof of a moving station wagon,
we're guessing "loose on the streets" included limbs and bowel movements.

After filming, the footage was stitched together using computer wizardry to create the Aspen Movie Map ... essentially, Google Street View: Aspen Edition. Just like in Street View, users could travel along the roads in any way they liked, rotate the camera, and check out the (no doubt freaked-out) townspeople, and read business listings.

As far as we can tell, the Aspen Movie Map contained no accidental nudity and crimes-in-progress, so it never really basked in the limelight.

If there's one thing that highlights how impressively brilliant-but-fucked modern technology is, it's the existence of patent trolls: terrible, soul-sucking reprobates who file vaguely termed patents explicitly so they can sue companies who eventually actually invent something that infringes on their bullshit even slightly.

Giovanni da Modena
As seen here, interacting with the concept of innovation.

It's comforting, then, in a twisted, schadenfreude-esque way, that our ancestors also had to deal with these guys. That said, they had the option of challenging them to a duel and settling ridiculous legal disputes in a split second, so we're kinda envious.

One of the earliest-known patent trolls was a devious swine known as George Selden, an engineer with a fetish for reading patents. He shot to infamy in the late 19th century with the "Road Engine," a design for a horseless carriage back in the days when no one was interested in making them. Yet. Selden, therefore, filed his patent in 1879 and, through skillful manipulation of the rules concerning patent filing, managed to delay the process of granting it until 1895, when automobile manufacturing was the hottest new career in town.

Via Americanautohistory.com
A career that, and we cannot stress this enough, he never once held.

By doing this, Selden ensured that no one else would be able to patent his idea and, also, no one would be able to create a workaround. Whenever a car manufacturer created a new model, Selden would often claim that the design infringed on his design and, oh wouldn't you know it, this whole problem could go away after a swift cash injection. He would later be described as the bane of the automotive industry and, while we were pretty harsh on patent trolls during the opening of this entry, it's hard not to root for the man who caused Henry "An Actual Nazi" Ford a headache.

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Also check out 5 Advanced Ancient Technologies That Shouldn't Be Possible and 20 Mind-Blowing Comparisons Between Old And New Technology.