Daniel Tosh - Masterclass in Crowd Control

Show Note 1

Let me set the scene: Friday night in downtown Honolulu, Hawai’i, late show. The kind of night where people are ready to laugh, the aloha vibes are strong, and someone, inevitably, is yelling chee-hoo like they just won the lottery. If you’ve ever been to Hawai’i, you know what I’m talking about. It’s practically the state bird of sound effects. So when I walked into the theater to see Daniel Tosh live, I already knew it might get a little rowdy.

And Tosh? Tosh knew, too. He’s performed in Hawai’i before. He’s familiar with the chee-hoo brigade. But what he did recently wasn’t just a comedy show—it was crowd-control sorcery. It was a masterclass in how to dominate a room full of people who think yelling nonsense is a spectator sport.

Here’s how it went down: about fifteen minutes into the show, Tosh is mid-bit when someone yells chee-hoo from the crowd. Now, if you’re not familiar, chee-hoo is a Hawaiian shout that’s equal parts celebration and I need some attention. It’s great for weddings or finding a really good parking spot in Waikīkī but not for responding to someone’s jokes.

Tosh, in classic Tosh fashion, didn’t let it slide. He stopped, looked out at the crowd, and said, “Woohoo” (read: chee-hoo) is not the appropriate response to comedy.” Playful, pointed, and with just enough edge to make the guy think twice—or so we thought. But this is a late Friday night in Hawai’i. So, naturally, it happened again.

This time Tosh was less playful. “Do it again,” he warned, “and you’re gone!” Now, you’d think that would be enough to shut someone up. But no. There’s always that one guy who thinks, He doesn’t mean me. I’m different. Spoiler: he did mean him. The guy chee-hooed a third time, and Tosh, like a comedy assassin, waved in security faster than the Corona-Virus spread spread across Italy. Within seconds, the man was escorted out, leaving behind only his dignity and a theater full of people now very aware that Tosh was not messing around.

From the perspective of someone who wasn’t a comedian it probably seemed a bit drastic. You could feel the tension ripple through the multi-level theater like someone had just yelled “Fire!” in a crowded room. And for a split second, I have to admit, as a comedian, I thought, Is this too much? Could he have let it go? But before the crowd could lean too far into the awkwardness, Tosh “called the moment,” as they say, and flipped it on its head. He started making fun of the guy, turning the situation into a joke with act-outs so sharp they felt rehearsed—except they weren’t. They couldn’t have been. This was pure in-the-moment genius.

And Tosh didn’t just stop there. Oh no. He brought it back. Twice. Later in the show, during a string of jokes about people he’d be willing to shoot instantly (you can imagine the kind of humor here), Tosh referred to the chee-hoo guy, saying, “I already dealt with one of them tonight.” The callback landed like a knockout punch, sending the crowd into hysterics.

Then, much later, during a bit about society’s unsung heroes—teachers, nurses, firefighters—he circled back again. This time, Tosh walked to the side of the theater where the guy had been sitting and he declared himself the real hero. “I kicked him out,” Tosh said something to the effect of, “and we all know he was annoying the crap out of everyone sitting near him.” The crowd roared, especially that little pocket of crowd where the guy had been sitting. In that moment, Tosh wasn’t just a comedian—he was a conductor, orchestrating the audience’s laughter with precision timing and razor-sharp wit.

What Tosh did wasn’t just about silencing a heckler. It was about setting the tone for the entire evening. He didn’t ignore the moment; he called it, owned it, and shaped it into something memorable. It wasn’t about being annoyed. It was about making the show better for the rest of the audience—the paying fans who didn’t come to hear someone shout chee-hoo every five minutes like a drunk dolphin.

And let’s be real: not every comedian, especially those just starting out, has the skills to pull that off. Handling a heckler is hard enough. Handling a semi-rowdy Friday night audience in Hawai’i, where chee-hooing can sometimes come across as a second language? That’s next-level. But Tosh made it look effortless. He showed that he was in charge, that he didn’t need to tolerate disruptions, and that, when the stakes were high, he could win the crowd back instantly.

It was a reminder that great comedians aren’t just joke-tellers—they’re commanders of the room. They set the pace, the tone, the energy. They know when to lean into a moment and when to shut it down. And Tosh? He shut it down, opened it back up, and then milked it for all it was worth. Tosh showed me that sometimes, calling it out—not just with wit, but with authority—can be what saves the show. For me, this wasn’t just a night of comedy; it was a masterclass in how to handle a crowd. To take a line from Tosh himself, “And for that, we’re thankful.”